Still Waters Run Deep
by Dazzleberry
Summary: One of Snape's first students is all grown up now and teaching divination.
1. Aislinn

A/N: Standard disclaimers apply. I assume you know what looks like something a talented billionaire author created and what looks like something an amateur American came up with.

All reviews are welcome!

* * *

August 25

Each minute that ticked into the past was a minute closer to the start of the fall term at Hogwarts-- an event met with a mixed bag of emotions from professors and students alike. Up and down the drafty corridors, the sounds of preparations could be heard, from the scraping of wood against stone as tables and chairs were moved and rearranged to the scratch of quill on parchment as last-minute notes were completed. A flurry of quiet activity, as the best intentions of the summer were squashed into hurried and poor imitations, with muttered promises that next year, those notes _would _be refined and that lesson rethought.

In the midst of that bubbling cauldron of activity, though, there was an island of calm. In the dungeons, where sunlight never creeps, bottles and jars glittered in the candlelight, lined neatly on the shelves, labels arranged to face the front, and there was one teacher who sat still and quiet, a book open on his knee, ignoring the activity around him. Severus had always felt he had gotten his lesson plans right the first time, and saw little need for tweaking them after fourteen years. His students did a commendable job on the OWLs every year, and even he could not seriously hope for better results. It was just one of the many results of careful planning, and Snape was nothing if not careful.

CRASH.

He looked up from the book, frowning at the ceiling above him, a sigh on his lips. _It's too early for this,_ he thought sourly as another series of crashes, followed by a bang and a curse, pierced the ceiling, disrupting his peace like a wind stirring dust. He sighed again as he marked his place in his book, and set it aside, standing rather slowly, deliberately taking his time before setting off to the source of the noise. As he rounded the last corner, his mind was racing ahead to the various possibilities. If it was Peeves, he was going to have a word with the Headmaster, and this time Dumbledore would find it much more difficult to usher the Potions Master from his office. If the crash had been one of the handful of students who stayed in the castle over the summer holidays, he was going to make it his personal mission to see the dunderhead expelled. If it was...

As he came to a halt in the doorway of a classroom, he realised that there was a possibility he had not been prepared for, and it took him a minute to decide that what he was seeing was real. It appeared that the entire universe had come crashing to the floor of that classroom, and right in the middle of it, blinking as though stunned, was a young woman with thick dark hair that hung lopsided out of what had likely once been a bun of some sort. A bookshelf was lying on the floor, books and papers scattered everywhere, and a chair was toppled behind her, the desk it belonged with sitting slightly askance. All around her, spheres of different sizes and colors were rolling slightly back and forth, and, when he squinted he could see nearly invisible threads draped over her, like a spider's web. It wasn't the mess, though, that had caught his eye. It was the woman sitting in the midst of it. There was something oddly familiar about her, though he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Maybe it was her eyes, dark and intense even when she seemed to be having difficulty focusing. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as she shook her head, another thick lock of dark hair tumbling to her shoulders, and then touched her forehead with her hand. The way she peered at her fingertips gave him the impression of someone checking for blood, and that was enough to jolt him back into reality. He glided into the room, carefully sidestepping a toppled chair, and came to a stop just in front of her. "Are you hurt?" he asked in his soft voice that commanded attention.

The woman blinked owlishly up at him, and shook her head, though he wasn't sure if she was answering him or trying to clear her mind, but as she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, he decided it was the latter. She had almost the look of a woman trying to decide if she was looking at a ghost or flesh and blood, and it was marginally disarming. "Are you injured?" he asked again, sweeping his robes out of the way as he stepped over the debris to kneel in front of her. He reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he turned her head to him, and he was _certain_ that time that there was a flicker of something across her eyes. Recognition, perhaps?

"Pr-, erm. Hello," she offered, leaning back a bit and ducking away from his touch. He let his hand drop away from her face, and she seemed to regain a bit of her senses. "I'm fine," she answered at last, and placed her hand on the floor, to brace herself to rise, but winced instead.

He reached for the hand and picked it up, turning it over in his own, palm up, to find a shard of glass imbedded in it. Again, something crossed her face, this time a shadow of fear, perhaps, and she made a feeble attempt to pull her hand away from him. Most men would have likely let go, just knowing that she was pulling away, but Severus tightened his grip instead. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked as he fished into his pocket with his free hand and brought out a linen handkerchief, which he wrapped around her hand and tied tightly.

"I'm fine," she repeated, this time sounding a bit more sure of herself. "Thank you for your concern, though. I'll just..." she didn't finish her sentence before beginning to rise, but her hand was still caught in his, and he prevented her from standing.

"You're sure, Miss--?" His lips thinned marginally. That was actually a very good question. Who _was_ she? She looked too old to be one of the students, and besides, he made it a point to know all the Hogwarts students by name. He had to; he taught them all eventually. This one, though, despite looking vaguely familiar, was not one of his students, of that he was sure.

"Ichalia," she replied, using her free hand to move her hair gracefully out of her eyes. "Aislinn Ichalia. I am the new divination teacher."

Divination? A flicker of amusement crossed his face, and his voice was flat. "Perhaps, then, Miss Ichalia, you should consider more carefully what you see in your crystal. Perhaps you can manage not to..." he looked around again, and swept a hand dismissively at the mess. "What happened, anyway?" He reached a hand behind her back, and hooked it about her waist, helping her to stand. She was surprisingly light, almost weightless, and it took him a moment to work out that he was not actually offering her much help; she was merely letting him think he was. Shrewd, this one.

"I was hanging a model of the solar system," she replied smoothly her hand resting on his arm, as though for balance, but he was sure that if he stepped away she wouldn't even notice it, so little was she leaning on him.

"Ah," he said softly. "Standing on the desk, were we? You are fortunate, Miss Ichalia, that you did not break your neck. Come along." He still had her hand in his, and he tugged slightly at it, but she didn't move.

"Come where?" she asked, turning away from him and shaking her foot to dislodge a loop of the thread from it, then knealt again, carefully disentangling her robe from where it had snagged on a jagged piece of metal. Severus shuddered inwardly at the thought of what would have happened had she fallen on _that_.

"To the hospital wing," he replied, kneeling beside her and helping her pick apart a knot that was securing her right foot to the desk. "Madame Pomfrey will remove the glass from your hand, and, if we ask nicely, she might even have some suggestion for the lack of sense that led you to be standing on that desk to begin with. Tell me, Miss Ichalia, do you know what a ladder is?"

The look she shot him was venomous, and it merely strengthened his certainty that he knew her from somewhere, though damned if he knew where. "I need not bother Madame Pomfrey," she told him stiffly. "I am quite capable of removing glass from my hand mys-- oh!"

Having lost patience with her, Severus had stood suddenly and jerked her hand hard enough to make her face contort with pain, and she'd little choice but to stand or have the glass ground more deeply into the flesh of her palm. "Do not be silly, Miss Ichalia," he breathed. "I shall see you to the hospital wing myself."

She all but hopped out of the middle of the mess, and a momentary pang of guilt shot through his heart at the way she was biting her lip. She jerked her hand away from him, and he let go of it this time, wishing he hadn't been so rough with her as she cradled it with her good hand. "I am quite capable of finding the hospital wing myself, Prof-, sir. Good _day_."

Again, he found himself wondering if she knew him as well; that was the second time she had been about to call him something and changed her mind, and once again, he went over his list of students in his head, thinking back over the last several years even, but he could not remember ever having a student named Aislinn, nor Ichalia, though he could not imagine where else he might have met her. Thoughts of who she was were quickly dispelled, though, as she finally straightened, leaving him staring for a moment as the top of her head came even with his. Or perhaps a little higher. Yes, he was definitely having to crane his head back a bit to look into her eyes now. Not much, of course, but a little, and he thought she might be an inch or two taller than he was. Most unusual indeed.

Once straightened, though, she did not wait before she had swept past him in a dizzying swirl of midnight blue robes, leaving a waft of soft scent behind her that befuddled his nose. She was halfway down the corridor, her robes billowing about her like a cloud as she cut a sure path towards the hospital wing with the confidence of one who knew the castle well. When she was out of sight, he turned back into her classroom, and looked around, his eyes sweeping over the mess for clues. He didn't dare linger too long, but he kneel to pick up a sheet of parchment and studied it for a moment. He knew enough about divination to know that he was looking at a star chart, and he could have worked out the positions of the planets based on the elegantly scrawled symbols, but it was meaningless to him. It seemed to mean a great deal to Miss Ichalia, however, as he began picking up page after page of notes, written in a hand that varied from smooth and elegant to a fast scrawl, as though her quill couldn't keep up with her thoughts. Tiny doodles decorated the corners and margins of the page, and that piqued a memory, but again it was a memory just out of reach. He let the parchment float back to the floor and stood, then cut a swift path to the hospital wing himself.

When he arrived, Madame Pomfrey was dabbing at Miss Ichalia's hand with a cotton ball, a sharp slice of glass gleaming on a tray beside the bed. He winced inwardly as he remembered squeezing her hand with that in it; the 'shard' would have been big enough to kill someone, and he suddenly had a different appreciation of the woman who had not cried out when he drove that deeper into her hand. Dumbledore was standing beside her, and she was talking to him, not paying a scrap of attention as Poppy dabbed at the wound with something that bubbled enough to make Severus wince in sympathy. Miss Ichalia seemed to notice it no more than she would have noticed a fly.

Taking another step closer, Severus cleared his throat softly. Dumbledore's head came up, and he smiled, waving Severus over. "And you remember Professor Snape, of course?" Dumbledore was asking, and Severus' brows knitted together. Once again, he felt that he should know the woman, and Dumbledore had practically told him so just now, but he _still_ could not remember her.

"Of course," she replied brightly, her eyes twinkling, and Severus re-evaluated his assessment of her eye color. He had thought they were black, but suddenly, standing so close to her, he could see they were blue. A very dark blue, like the midnight sky, and with a certain distant look to them that seemed to reflect eternity. "How could I ever forget dear Professor Snape?" she asked, extending her hand and bringing his attention back to the present. He opened his mouth to retort that he'd certainly managed to forget her, but closed it before the words came. There was something about her eyes and her smile... she was _laughing_ at him. His eyes narrowed.

"Miss Ichalia," he said formally, folding his arms pointedly across his chest, blatantly ignoring her extended hand. A slightly warning look from Dumbledore, though, was enough quell his petulance, and he reached for her hand, but she'd already dropped it back to her lap.

"There, now, dear, you're good as new." Poppy was pocketing her wand again, and bustling to clean up the mess from her impromptu surgery. Miss Ichalia looked at her hand, then turned it over and looked at the back of it, then waggled her fingers before smiling a broad smile.

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. Now, if you will all excuse me." She had hopped down from her perch on the bed, and she smiled at each of the attendees in turn. "Madame Pomfrey, Headmaster," she nodded at them, then turned to Severus, taking a step forward until she was close enough that he could feel her warm breath. "Professor Snape," she said softly, and _winked_ at him before turning abruptly, her robes billowing and her hair floating around her-- he just realised that it was no longer even making an effort to be pulled up-- and then was off down the corridor, looking cheerful in spite of everything.

When she was completely out of sight, Severus rounded on Dumbledore. "Who is she?" he asked pointedly, but Dumbledore only smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"She is the new divination teacher," he replied, and Severus felt his fist clenching beneath his robes. He _knew_ that much.

"What happened to Sybill, then?" he asked. "And Firendze?"

Dumbledore waved dismissively. "They're still here. There has been a sudden swelling of interest in divination, though, and I thought it prudent to hire a third teacher. Miss Ichalia will be taking the fifth year students now, and Firenze the sixth and seventh in a NEWT class. Sybill will continue with the third and fourth years."

Severus sneered. "Why all the sudden interest in divination?" he asked, and Dumbledore smiled again, as infuriatingly as ever.

"I would expect, Severus, that it has something to do with the events of last spring, though I may be wrong. Aislinn is of the opinion that it is the influence of Mercury in Pisces, and perhaps she is correct."

Aislinn. Once again, Severus wracked his mind for a clue as to who the new divination teacher might be, but once again he came up with nothing. "Who is she?" he asked again, a note of pleading in his voice this time. Once more, Dumbledore smiled.

"That is her secret to keep or reveal as she will, Severus. If you want to know, perhaps you should ask her."


	2. Who she is

September 1   
  
With the setting sun came the shrill whistly of the Hogwarts Express, and there was a flutter of last-minute activity as the teachers took their places in the Great Hall, assembled on either side of Dumbledore. Severus found his chair near the middle of the table, and frowned towards the end, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired Aislinn who had developed a disturbing habit of popping up wherever he was. He'd still not managed to work out who she was, and he suspected she knew that it was beginning to drive him marginally insane. And he suspected that she was enjoying it. Twice he'd tried to trick her into revealing her identity by asking questions, but the little vixen had outwitted him both times, always seeming to know instinctively when he was prowling for answers. She'd left a number of clues lying around, and much to his irritation, it had taken him three days to realise that she was doing it on purpose, offering him a tantalizing hint. He had made his first discovery at lunch one day, when she made a comment that had left him certain of her age-- twenty-seven it would seem, and he had gone straight back to his office to find class lists from his first years teaching at Hogwarts, but there was no Aislinn and no Ichalia. That evening, her subtle, off-handed remark had led him to believe that she was Slytherin, though he was certain she would have remembered her if she had been. A day later, though, he found himself wondering if she was actually a Ravenclaw who had been a student at the same time he was. Then she led him to believe that she was a Gryffindor who had graduated maybe five years ago; and then he thought perhaps she had been one of the students who had visited Hogwarts during the Triwizard tournament. He had finally devided she was leading him along, and enjoying his chasing of hints that were no more hints than what Dumbledore had said.   
  
And, if he were entirely truthful, he was intrigued by her, even as she drove him to the brink of distraction. He couldn't remember the last time anyone was able to befuddle him as thoroughly as she had, and he was quite enjoying the challenge on some level. But he still wanted to know who she was, and it irked him that it was the beginning of the term now and he was no more sure of her identity than he had been a week ago. He watched her as she talked to the other teachers, lively and animated, her hands gesturing expansively as she elaborated on some point that had Flintwick in tears from laughter. From the way she was beaming, Severus assumed that laughter was the desired reaction to whatever she was saying. His eyes lingered on her for a moment more.   
  
Despite his overall lack of success in discerning who she was, he had noted a few more things about her. For one, she was not quite so tall as he had originally thought; she simply had a penchant for shoes with a three to four inch heel on them that made her seem to tower. Without the shoes, though, she still came very close to looking him in the eye, which was almost unnerving. Few men looked Severus Snape in the eye, and he'd never known a woman tall enough to do so. He had also found that her eye color seemed to change from day to day. They ranged from an enchanting shade of peacock blue to nearly black to almost silver to a shade evocative of midnight. Whatever color they were, though, they sparkled constantly, except when she didn't feel well. This he had stumbled onto quite by accident, as one morning her eyes had been that lovely blue laced with just a smidge of green and shimmering like the ocean, and a few hours later they appeared clouded and hard as iron. She had admitted that she had a splitting headache, and, in a fit of altruism, or something like it, he had brewed her a subtly calming potion that could be added to a cup of tea, and he'd sat with her while she drank it. As she took the cup from him and sipped so trustingly, he immediately found himself thinking that he could provide her with a tea laced with Veritasserum, but it seemed simply wrong to betray her trust so, and for no reason other than to satisfy his own curiousity.   
  
He had also noted, in some distant portion of his mind that noticed such things, that she was stunningly beautiful. How he had failed to notice it before was beyond him, but four days after he had left her in the infirmary, the afternoon she sat sipping the potion-laced tea he had brewed for her headache, it had suddenly hit him that she was extraordinarily beautiful. He justified his dismal lack of observation by telling himself that he had first met her with her hair hanging around her face and sitting in an unglorified heap atop a pile of rubbish. He insisted that there was no way he could have known that those volumous blue velvet robes concealed a curvaceous body that had shocked him two evenings ago when he found her and Minerva talking over a glass of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey to his eye that was so untrained in these things. And she had a smile that was so bright that it outshone the sun. _Perhaps,_ a voice in the back of his mind suggested, _she is not so very beautiful after all. Perhaps she simply acts like a beautiful woman, and therefore becomes beautiful._ That was a thought worth mulling over, and he had done so, at length, over a glass of sherry. After all, she was too tall to look entirely feminine, and her nose was rather small, giving her something of a child-like appearance half the time. Her face was certainly not the model of ideal beauty-- it was too round, and she was always a bit flushed as though she'd just run through the halls. And, if he were entirely honest, there were lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, which again made him wonder how old she was, anyway. And that hair of hers... the first several times he'd seen her, it had been up (not withstanding the very first encounter, when it obviously _had_ been up but did not survive her fall nearly as gracefully as she had) but when he did finally come across her with her hair down, he was surprised that it was not as silky as he'd first thought. She had enough hair to make three wigs out of, and she had laughed and told him that she wore it up because it was the only way she could trap it into order. He believed her after seeing the wild cascades of curls that spilled over her shoulders and to her waist, and he'd very nearly laughed when she batted it out of her way one day with the indignant accusation that it was attacking her. None of this took awy from her beauty, though, only made it curious to him, that someone who, while attractive, could hardly be considered the ideal of beauty and yet held eyes wherever she went as surely as did a Veela.   
  
The doors of the Great Hall suddenly burst open, startling Severus out of his thoughts, and he turned his attention to the students entering the Great Hall, filing in and separating to their tables. He smiled tightly to the Slytherin table as the students took their seats, and noted with some pleasure that a few of the Gryffindors were looking askance at him. He had spent long years cultivating a reputation that preceeded him every year. He had to do very little now to keep the students convinced that he was cruel and heartless. His first years were always the recipient of a great many detentions from him, and few of them ever forgot that he was fast to award detention and fast to deduct points from a House, and that fear often lingered with them through their years at Hogwarts. The din in the Hall reached a high level as the returning students found their seats and greeted their classmates. If there was one thing that never ceased to surprise him, it was the _noise_ that students were capable of. Severus had always been quiet, as a boy, as a teenager and as a man, so he could never understand how students could be so _loud_. He resisted the urge to massage his temples.   
  
A sudden hush came over the Hall, and the doors swung open again, admitting a double line of first year students. Severus caught himself shaking his head slightly; every year they looked a little _younger_ to him. Some day, they were going to come in in strollers, and it wasn't going to particularly surprise him. He sat through the sorting ceremony, marking with interest who went to Gryffindor and who to Slytherin and noting with half an eye the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. And, he kept Miss Ichalia in his peripheral vision, trying to discern a favoritism towards one house over another. If there was more enthusiasm for anyone, he thought it was for the students who looked the most frightened. When the sorting was over, Minerva tapped her goblet with her spoon to catch everyone's attention, and Dumbledore stood to address students and faculty. The first announcements were what were expected, welcome to the new students and keep out of the Dark Forest and don't hex each other in the corridors between classes. All of this went fairly quickly, giving Severus a moment to study his new Slytherin charges. As head of their house, he knew that he had to be alert for possible trouble from them. And he could already tell that one of the girls was going to be a problem; not five minutes into the Headmaster's speech, she was making eyes at two of the boys sitting across from her. Severus made a mental note to have a chat with her.   
  
"...and, as you can plainly see, we have new teachers to welcome to Hogwarts this year. First, I would like to introduce our newest divination teacher, whom some of you seventh years may remember from your own first experience at Hogwarts. Professor Ichalia!" Severus' head turned back to Aislinn who had stood and was waving to a girl at the far end of the Ravenclaw table who was waving furiously at her. At the back of the Hall, a murmur was slipping through, and Severus strained his ears to hear what they were saying. The murmur mounted, and finally he could pick a single name out of the whispered rush: Hannah. Hannah Carlisle. That was the consensus. The students, apparently, assumed that Miss Carlisle had married, and that was why she was now Mrs. Ichalia, and for a moment, Severus considered that. But, she'd made no mention of a husband, and wore no ring on her left hand, and he had not heard of a Mr. Ichalia living anywhere on the premesis. It was a swift conclusion on his part that she was not married, and it was just as wel that it was swift, for realisation slapped against him, beating all other thoughts out of his head. Hannah Carlisle. He _did_ remember her, and his eyes snapped back to Aislinn. No, Hannah. Whoever she was. She had been one of the banes of his existence, grating on his nerves very nearly as badly as that Potter brat did. As he watched her, he mentally subtracted years, and replaced her velvet blue robe with a simple black one, and let her hair fall in messy tangles around her face. Tangles that were forever getting caught in the fire under her cauldron. How many times had he been forced to put out flames because that little dunderhead couldn't remember to bring a ribbon or something to class? He had threatened to cut her hair all off the fourth time it happened, and after six times, he had taken to having the detention slip already written out. By the time she was a second year, he'd learned to have a string for her, which he dropped unceremoniosly on her desk every day, and for which she always thanked him as though he was showing her some kindness. She had been a Gryffindor, and a teacher's worst nightmare-- a quick mind that she used for everything in the world except lessons and studying, a mischievous streak a mile wide, and an mouth that never closed. Even when she was in detention, she'd been prone to chattering to him, or mumbling as she read.   
  
Merlin's beard. That girl was a teacher now. God help them all.


	3. A headache

September 2   
  
"...and furthermore, I expect even the most mentally challenged dunderhead in here to scrape at _least_ an 'Acceptable' on the OWL, or you will have my..."   
  
CRASH.   
  
Severus stopped talking and scowled up at the ceiling, through which the sounds of chairs scraping against stone floor could be heard, as well as a general degree of panic and excitement. He cleared has throat and tried to put Hannah-- he refused to call her Aislinn now that he knew who she was-- out of his mind. Hannah and her foolish clumsiness. Careless and... He cleared his throat and picked up where he had left off. "...my extreme displeasure. For some of you..." RATTLE-RATTLE-BANG! He looked up at the ceiling again and sighed. Bloody hell, but he hoped no one was getting killed up there. "For _some_ of you, this will be our last year together. For many of you, I would expect, as I take only..." RATTLE CRASH BANG CRASH CREEEEEAK SHATTER BANG. Severus slammed his hand onto his desk and hissed at his students. "Your instructions are on the boards, do _try_ not to blow anything up while I go check on _Miss Ichalia_." He waved his wand at the board and the instructions to a fairly benign potion appeared, and he stalked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.   
  
Up the stairs again, and across the corridor, around the corner he stalked until he had come to a halt in front of Hannah's classroom. He didn't bother to knock before he flung the door open, letting it bang against the wall. "Can you _possibly_ make a little more noise?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "There are those of us who spend our class periods trying to _teach_." Having exhausted his biting comments, Severus took the opportunity to look around, and regretted the remarks. It was not, as he had believed, Hannah who was making the noise, but Peeves, gleefully throwing books and chairs across the room. Hannah stood directly in front of him, her arms crossed and a sour look on her face as he floated through the room doing somersaults while clapping two erasers together, leaving little clouds of chalk dust all over the room. "Peeves!" Severus snapped, and the Poltergeist stopped mid-air, upside down, to look at him.   
  
"Hello, Snivellus," the ghost said with a grin.   
  
With considerable effort, Severus ignored that. _That_ was what that blasted Potter and his sidekick Sirius had called him. Snivellus. It was usually enough to set him seething, but he was determined to keep his temper. He folded his arms. "I am sure that the Headmaster will be pleased to know that you have been disrupting classes," he spoke softly, "and certainly the long-standing agreement to allow you to remain here will be... unaffected... by such behaviour." Peeves drifted down slowly until he was eye-level with Severus, which might have been mistaken for submission had the Potion Master not been savvy to his ploys.   
  
"THBLBLBLBLP!" Peeves blew a loud, wet raspberry and skittered off, laughing and rattling the armor as he went by. Severus bent down and picked up the book Peeves had dropped, and handed it back to Hannah; that was the closest she would ever get to an apology from him.   
  
"Threaten to report him to Dumbledore," Severus advised, turning on his heel. "And mean it." With that, he closed the door, hard, and stalked back to the dungeons, muttering under his breath about the poltergeist.

By the end of the day, Severus had suffered through no fewer than three classes with Gryffindor students, and his mood was sour enough to curdle milk. One hour until dinner time, and then, hopefully, he could manage a few moments' peace and quiet until his first detention of the year arrived. A Gryffindor-- no surprise there-- who had thought himself above the rules regarding the lighting of fires under cauldrons. Dinner time was always one of Severus' least favorite times of the day, as the students always all seemed to be overly active and loud at the end of the day. He had never dreamed that he would become one of the worst-paid babysitters of all times. With that happy though sustaining him, he mounted the stairs and wound his way to the staff room, hoping for a moment or two completely alone. To his dismay (or perhaps his enjoyment, depending on which part of his brain one asked), the staff room was not already empty. Hannah Carlisle (he could _not_ bring himself to think of her as Aislinn Ichalia, not now) had draped herself over a wingback chair, her head resting against one arm, her feet dangling over the other, her eyes closed.

Severus shut the door softly, and approached her slowly, watching her. It was an easy enough task for him, legilimancy, and he slipped into her mind, partially out of idle curiosity and partially because she was there and he could. Memories flashed before his eyes, disjointed and fleeting, one ending abruptly and another cresting before the first had even died. Perhaps most disturbing were the pages and pages of text that seemed to be rolling in her mind, which he could actually have _read_ had they stayed still long enough for him to focus on any particular word. He frowned slightly as she seemed to shuffle through book after book, and then, as suddenly as the thoughts had begun, they stopped.

"Good afternoon to you too, Professor Snape," she said without even opening her eyes.

He was momentarily taken aback, and had she opened her eyes at that point, she might have noted that he'd had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Good afternoon, Miss Carlisle," he replied curtly, moving to a vacant chair and seating himself, opening his book onto his knee.

"Ichalia," she corrected, and he looked at her again. Her eyes were still closed.

"Your pardon?" he asked, and this time she did open one eye, through which she regarded him skeptically.

"My name," she said slowly, enunciating each word, "is Aislinn Ichalia. I have not been Hannah Carlisle for quite some time." She closed her eye again.

"Well, whatever you prefer to be called, I must confess I have a difficult time with nicknames. I..." he trailed off as she had reached behind herself, her eyes closed again, and he found his eyes following her hand to her handbag, which she opened, reached inside of, and removed her wallet. She tossed it in his general direction. "What's this?" he asked.

"Open it," she invited, opening an eye again. This time he noted that her eye was slightly clouded, and he thought perhaps she had a headache again and was not simply being impolite. "Take your pick," she told him. "Passport, credit cards, magic license... Look at any of the, my name," she emphasized slowly, "is Aislinn Ichalia." She closed her eyes again, and he thought momentarily that she was very trusting to leave her wallet in his hands with her eyes closed. Out of curiosity, he did open it, and sure to her word, card after card in it said 'Aislinn Ichalia', with her photo on them.

"Fine," he sighed, snapping the wallet shut and leaning forward to drop it on her stomach. "Miss Ichalia."

"You may call me Aislinn if you like."

"Aislinn then! Whatever your name is! I don't even know how I bloody well got into this conversation." He readjusted his book and went back to reading, but he kept one eye on her. She didn't move. She didn't open her eyes, she didn't put her wallet back in her purse, she didn't even bat away a fly when it landed on her nose. After a moment, he sighed. "Are you feeling all right, Miss Ca- Ichalia," he amended hastily as her eye opened a crack. It closed again when he corrected himself.

"I have a headache," she replied, in the same tone with which she might have told him it was nearly dinner time. Severus was of the opinion that most people fished for sympathy when they did not feel well, but there was no indication that Hannah (he still couldn't think of her as Aislinn, even if he did manage to make himself call her that) was fishing for anything. He had asked a question, and she had supplied an answer.

He was quiet for a moment too, but he couldn't help watching her, noticing that her brows seemed to be knitting tighter together with every passing moment. _I'd have a headache too if I had all that text in my head,_ he thought. That little glimpse had provided him with a surprise-- he'd always known that she was bright, even when she was a student. In fact, he'd often thought that had he not had the duty of teaching her, he might have liked her (in a way that was entirely proper for a teacher to like a student of course!). And she had been infuriating even then, with an odd ability to quote the previous evening's reading assignment with a distant look in her eyes, as though she were reading from an unseen page. _Perhaps,_ he decided, _that was precisely what she was doing._ He closed his book. "There is still some of the potion I made the other day," he commented, sounding himself rather as though he were talking about something of no importance. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked. She opened both eyes this time, and grimaced, as though suddenly assaulted by a too-bright light.

"Thank you," she nodded, and took a deep breath. Severus had the impression that she was steeling herself for something, and, as she swung her legs to the floor and stood, he realized with alarm what it was. He stood and took a few steps to her side, clutching her elbow to steady her as she swayed alarmingly from side to side.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Miss Car- Ichalia. Sit down, and _I_ will make you a cup of tea. You wouldn't know how much potion to add, and you'd probably poison yourself." This last was muttered mostly under his breath after he had already guided her back to her chair. He spent a few moments gathering the cup and added two tea bags, then poured hot water over it. There was always hot water in the staff room, as most of the staff liked a cup of tea whenever they could get it. While the tea was steeping, he opened a cupboard and pulled down a small bottle of clear liquid and added a few drops to the steaming tea. The steam carried an aroma redolent of peppermint across the room, and he half-turned to ask her if she wanted sugar in the tea-luckily, this was one potion that was not affected one way or the other by the presence of other ingredients, at least not once it was properly cured. His words never made it out of his mouth, though, and he dropped the spoon he had been stirring the tea with and moved over to Hannah, placing a hand on her back. "Miss Carlisle?" he asked, forgetting to address her as Ichalia. She was leaning forward, her forehead resting on her knees in such a feat of flexibility that Severus was afraid she had fainted. She lifted her head, though, when he spoke and he noted that her eyes had become even more opaque and grey.

"Aislinn." She rested her head on her knees again.

Severus felt his lips twitch. "Aislinn," he repeated. "Do you need to visit Madame Pomfrey?" He hoped that this was not going to become a pattern, his ushering her to the hospital wing every time they met. He hadn't the time for such nonsense.

"I'm fine," came her muffled reply, but he noticed that she was clutching her ankles now, and her knuckles were white from the effort.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

She lifted her head again, and he noted that her lower lip was trembling slightly. "If I went to the hospital wing every time I had a headache, I'd live there," she told him pointedly, and sank her head into her lap again.

He winced inwardly, and, uncharacteristically, he squeezed her shoulder softly before returning to the tea. "Would you like sugar?" he asked.

"Thank you, no," came the muffled reply.

"Lemon?"

"No thank you."

"Mint?"

She lifted her head again, and this time her eyelashes were damp. "Nothing in it, thank you," she whispered.

He picked up the teacup and moved back to kneel in front of her before she could put her head in her lap again. "Drink," he commanded, holding the cup to her lips, and her fingers curled around the handle of the cup. Her hands were shaking, though, and he found himself wondering what kind of pain she must be in, and what could cause such a headache. If it was, indeed, only a headache. She drank, his hands steadying hers around the cup, and then, when she sat up straighter, he placed the cup aside and dragged another chair so he could sit directly in front of her, eye level. "How often do you have these headaches?" he asked quietly.

Her woeful smile said all he needed to know. "Most days," she replied, reaching for the cup again. His hands followed hers, and steadied the cup once again.

"Then perhaps I should make more of this potion," he said softly. "Or perhaps you should visit Madame Pomfrey…"

"No." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her stomach, watching him warily for a moment, almost as though she was afraid he was going to somehow force her to the hospital wing. "Hannah," he began, and grimaced as he realized he'd done it again.

"Aislinn," she corrected, her voice firm. "My name is Aislinn."

He nodded. "My apologies," he said softly. "Aislinn, Madame Pomfrey is a…"

He suddenly found himself staggering back as she swung her long legs up and over the arm of the chair, wriggling away from him. "I am not going to Madame Pomfrey about a…" she was swaying alarmingly again, and he stood, reaching for her arm, but she took a step back. "No," she whispered. "Don't touch me. I'm _fine_. If you'll excuse me." And she was groping for the door handle, and then stumbling into the corridor, leaving Severus to stare after her.

After a moment, he stood, shaking his head, and picked up the half-empty tea cup. _If you were going to frighten her off, couldn't you at least have waited until she finished the tea?_ he asked himself, disgusted with his lack of tact. _It was obvious that she did not want to go to the hospital wing, and who are you to tell a grown woman what to do?_ He was still in the midst of scolding himself when the door opened again. He looked over his shoulder, and grimaced slightly at the look on Minerva's face.

"Severus, do you know what was wrong with Aislinn?"

Why, yes, Minerva, I do actually. She was sitting here minding her own business and I had to go poking my-what was it the Marauders used to say?-my abnormally large nose into her business. No, the Potions Master knew just what to do for a headache, and was intent on telling her in minute detail, and forcing her to accept it whether she wanted it or not, when it was reasonably clear that all she wanted to do was lie in that chair and not be interrupted. So finally, in a fit of pain and frustration, she went barreling out of the room, crying. I think that pretty much covers it. Aloud he spoke barely above a whisper. "She had a headache."


	4. Divination

September 29  
  
The last days of summer passed in a molten whisper of gold, and soon the fires of autumn had been stoked, and the world blazed anew with the radiance of fall. Color erupted around hogwarts, a crackling melody of scarlet and gold, and every eddying swirl of leaves brought with it a blast of dying warmth, the last breath of the world before the ashen death of winter.  
  
There was something familiar about Hogwarts at this time of year, and, when she closed her eyes and pictured the old castle, Aislinn always saw it surrounded by the golden glow of autumn. During those three precious months, it seemed the world was laying its riches on a platter and holding them up for the students to sample. She'd always loved the spice of autumn, and everything just seemed somehow richer in that fiery sparkle. The cool mornings seemed crisper, the sky seemed clearer, the butterbeer richer. Even Bertie Botts' Every Flavor beans seemed to have more tantalizing flavors in them. Despite the unpleasant memory of finding a dung-flavored one once, Aislinn still harbored a great love of those beans, and trying to pick out the ones that would taste like strawberry or butterscotch. Her mind, in one of its more infamous tricks, seemed to have forgotten that she'd ever found an onion flavored bean in the fall; she remembered only cinnamon and caramel.  
  
Humming softly to herself, she waltzed her way to her classroom, her midnight velvet robes swirling around her ankles. She smiled to the students, calling them by name as she passed them, and to her pleasure, most of them responded in kind. It had been her intention from the beginning to befriend them as much as possible, despite the advice she'd had against that. Teachers should be teachers, not friends, she had heard too many times to count, but hers was an effervescent spirit that could not be dampened by such drivel. Besides, if her memory served her correctly (and it usually did), there were plenty of teachers at Hogwarts who were strict with the students. A little laughter never went amiss.  
  
This morning, a Tuesday, found her in an exceptionally good mood. On Tuesdays, she did not have a class until 10, which meant she could sleep an extra hour and then spend the morning with a cup of tea (or apple cider this time of year, Merlin's beard but she loved the autumn!) and a good book. It turned out to be a good thing that she had the morning off, and was in such a good mood on Tuesdays; her first class came directly from Professor Snape's double potions class, and they were always gloomy enough to drown the sun it seemed.  
  
Whistling a soft tune, she rounded the corner and settled herself on the desk, which she used for sitting about twice as often as she used for writing, and swung her feet back and forth while she waited for the bell to toll, announcing that her students would be free of Professor Snape and trotting up the stairs to her classroom. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor dears when she remembered her own years sitting in Snape's class. He had been an oily, slimy, sarcastic and generally unpleasant teacher in those days, and easily her least favorite. From the looks of things, little had changed. His hair was still every bit as limp and greasy as it had ever been, and his voice the same hiss that had grated at her nerves those years ago. And, based on her admittedly limited contact with him in her first month back, she had the distinct impression that his remarks had grown no less biting and his penchant for humiliating students no less pronounced.  
  
And he had a disarming way of looking at her that made her feel stripped to the bones and eleven years old again. There was just something about the way he looked at her that always made her feel like she'd been misbehaving, and it took every ounce of strength she had not to cower when he turned that glittering glare on her. It was all she could do not to look away when he sneered at her, but to meet his gaze head-on, and that was the biggest bloody cycle she'd ever had the misfortune to be involved in. The more she stood there smiling at him as though he were a human instead of something a bat dragged out of the cave, the more he glared at her, as though daring her to do something he disapproved of. It was just like being in his class again, with him always hovering over her, waiting for her to screw up whatever brew she was working on.  
  
In all fairness, Aislinn knew that she'd never truly applied herself in her potions class, but, why should she have? As a child, she'd been starving for attention as her parents both had better things to do than pretend to love her, and the teachers who encouraged her had always found her a willing and brilliant student. The sort they loved to have. She had done every scrap of homework McGonagall had ever assigned, and she'd read every word that Flitwick had ever pointed at. She did the extra assignments and the suggested ones, and when they said to write three feet of parchment, she'd turned in five. Only Snape had not been impressed with her, and, perhaps as a direct result, she'd not been impressed with him. By the middle of her first term in his class, she'd taken to purposely trying his patience, always walking the line of rule-breaking without actually stepping over it. She'd gotten more points taken from Gryffindor by half- breaking rules than all the others in her class combined, but when called on that, she would simply shrug and point out that Snape was going to take points away from Gryffindor anyway, so she might as well give him a good reason for it. It had been that kind of twisted logic that had kept her from ever being one of Hogwarts' shining stars, but she'd done all right.  
  
And, out of pure spite, she'd pulled off an Outstanding OWL in Potions and continued to take the class, for no good reason. In retrospect, perhaps she was at least partly to blame for the ill light in which Snape seemed to see her, but she couldn't help but think that most of it had been because she was a Gryffindor, and everyone knew that he simply loathed that House.  
  
The ringing of the bell to announce the end of class brought her out of her considerations of Professor Snape, and she put a smile back on her face, and waited for her students to arrive. And waited. And waited. They didn't come. She frowned slightly as the bell rang again, signifying the beginning of the next class, and still she had no students. Under normal circumstances, she might have assumed that her students were playing some sort of joke on her, but she rather doubted it this time. After all, they were in Snape's class before hers, and some irrational part of her mind (the part that was still thirteen for all intents and purposes) briefly wondered if he'd lost his temper and killed them all. Whatever it was, though, she doubted they'd had enough free time to plot a joke on her while in his class, and had it been orchestrated any earlier, she was sure she'd have heard about it. Besides, there were at least three students in her class whom she didn't think would have participated in such a joke for all the chocolate in France.  
  
With a sigh, she hopped down from her perch on her desk, her heeled shoes hitting the floor with a click, and she lifted her hands, patting at her hair for a moment to make sure it was still neatly secured. It was, and a fluttering of hands over robes indicated to her that the blue velvet was still neat and straight. She checked the laces at her wrists to assure herself that they were still properly tied, and then set off towards the dungeon, to face the dragon of Hogwarts. As she walked through the corridor, her robe billowed behind her, though the effect was hardly the same as the effect Snape's billowing black robes had on people. As she floated down the stairs, she felt her lips tightening as she heard his hissing voice wafting through the open door. He was not supposed to have a class.  
  
She came to a halt just inside the room, and, as she'd suspected, found her students still working on whatever was in those cauldrons. She cleared her voice loudly, and Snape looked at her, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. God help her, but those eyes had always driven fear into her heart, and it was no different now. Something in her whispered urgently, demanding that she apologize for interrupting him and back away, but she shoved that suggestion aside as she took a few steps into the room and smiled what she hoped was a bright smile.  
  
"Hello, Professor Snape," she said cheerfully, and made a special effort not to let her smile falter as his glare deepened.  
  
"Yes, Miss Car- Ichalia?" he asked, and she set her jaw. He did that on purpose, she was sure of it. Every chance he got, he was calling her 'Miss Carlisle' or 'Hannah', and she knew that he thought if he did that often enough, she'd eventually break down and run crying to her rooms.  
  
Come on, now, is he really all that bad? She shoved the voice of reason aside; it always had miserable timing. Yes, as a matter of fact he is.  
  
"I just came to collect my students, Professor," she said brightly. "When the second bell rang and they were not there, I assumed that the bell down here must be broken and you had all lost track of time." A snicker somewhere in the classroom drew Snape's eye, but Aislinn didn't move a muscle. She knew perfectly well that the bell was not broken, and even if it was, she could bank that one of the students would have reminded Snape that class was drawing to a close. ANd that was assuming that he did not realise it, which was bloody unlikely.  
  
"The students will be along shortly, Miss... Ichalia." The pause was palpable, and she felt her jaw tightening again, but said nothing. "I'm afraid that there was a minor disruption earlier in the hour, and the students are all making up for lost time now."  
  
Aislinn slipped the rest of the way into the room and came to a halt right in front of Snape, glad that she'd worn her heels today. It was such a gratifying thing, to be able to look down her nose at him. "Not on my time, they aren't, Professor. Now, class," she turned around and clapped her hands, "you may all go up to my classroom and take your seats. No, Robert," she shook her head at a Gryffindor on the front row, "don't bother to clean up."  
  
"No one is to move." Snape spoke, as always, in that low and threatening voice, and the students who had started to shift stopped just as suddenly. "How dare you come in here and give orders to my class?" he hissed.  
  
"No, Professor Snape, not your class. My class."  
  
"My classroom." He had a smug look of inescapable logic on his face, but Aislinn knew she had him. She reached into her robe and pulled out a pocket watch, which she held up by the chain, the case open to reveal a mother of pearl face with ebony hands.  
  
"Do you know how to tell time, Professor? When the little hand touches the ten and the big hand touches the twelve, these students become my students until the little hand touches the twelve and the big hand touches the-"  
  
"Get out." He took a menacing step towards her, and pointed at the door, and the part of her that was interested in saving her own skin shouted for her to obey immediately. The mischievous imp, though, only smiled.  
  
"Very well, Professor. And I shall be taking my class with me." She turned away from him, another feat which required more bravery than she'd ever realised she had, and clapped again. "Well? You all heard what Professor Snape said. Out!" There was a momentary pause, and then a couple of people began moving. Gryffindors, Aislinn noted with some small degree of pride. Always the Gryffindors to make the first move. After a moment of book shuffling and paper gathering, one of them finally stood, and, to Aislinn's delight, left the fire burning under his cauldron as he walked out of class. He was soon followed by another, then two more. It took close to five minutes before the last of the students had picked up her books and left the dungeon, and, Aislinn took that as her cue. She turned to Snape again, and tried to ignore the glower he was affixing her with. "And a good day to you too, Professor," she said with a smile and a nod, then stalked out of the dungeon and up the stairs.  
  
When she reached her own classroom and entered it, it was, to her great surprise, to a round of applause from the students.  
  
"That was bloody brilliant, Miss Ichalia!"  
  
"Did you see the look on Snape's face? I thought he was going to have you for dinner!"  
  
"I can't believe you did that, Miss, don't you know he's likely to curse you for it, or worse."  
  
"What's worse than a curse, you half-wit?"  
  
"Sitting next to you!"  
  
"That will do." Aislinn took her place at the front of the class and resumed her perch on her desk. "Now, it seems we have a slightly shortened class today, so I believe we will skip the review of last night's homework and move straight into our next. Does anyone want to venture a guess what it will be?" Half a dozen hands shot up; Aislinn was quite predictable in this regard-- she followed her syllabus to the letter, and anyone who bothered to look at it would see that after 'the Sun' came 'the Moon'. "Yes, Mr. Arnold?" she called on one of the boys in the front row, a Slytherin. Despite the fact that Aislinn made no bones about supporting the Gryffindor Quidditch team and despite the fact that she'd been known to high-five Gryffindors as she passed them in the corridor when the House was up in points, anyone who watched her for even half an hour would be unable to make accusations that she favored one House over another when it came to awarding points.  
  
"The Moon!" he answered, and, as expected, Aislinn clapped.  
  
"Brilliant, Mr. Arnold! You must have been gazing into the crystal again. No? Well, no matter. Five points to Slytherin!" She made a hash-mark on the paper in front of her, indicating that she'd awarded points to Slytherin. It was a system she used to keep herself fair-- if there were more than three hands in the air, she awarded five points, and rotated the Houses, and students, she called upon. If there was only one hand in the air, and that had came up immediately, she awarded ten points to whomever it was if they answered correctly. If it took her half an hour of discussion to get answers out of the students, she awarded five points for wrong answers, and, when the right answer was finally achieved, she awarded as many points again to that person, so that if it took two wrong answers to get to the right answer, the person with the right answer earned fifteen points for their House. A complex system if she tried to explain it to anyone, and none of her students had ever caught on, but it worked for her, and she had a high level of class participation in her lessons. "Now," she said, "who read the chapter last night?" That was a pattern most of her students had picked up on. A leading question it was; anyone who raised his hand that he'd read the chapter was volunteering to answer a question, and anyone who did not raise her hand was admitting she hadn't read the chapter (and Miss Ichalia had been known to give detentions to everyone who didn't raise their hands.) More than half the hands went up, though, so there were no detentions this time as she called on a Ravenclaw. "Miss Mitchell," she said, and there was a rippling sigh of relief from the others, who immediately put their hands down. "What statement does the moon make in astrology?"  
  
"I feel," the girl replied instantly.  
  
"Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw!" Aislinn pointed her wand at the chalkboard, and the glyph of the moon appeared, followed by the phrase 'I feel' written in an elegant script. "The moon influences the subtle effects of our emotions on our personalities," she told them, and quills scratched against parchment. "It is often associated with childhood, and the way we were raised. A moon sign is traditionally considered more potent in females, and, some astrologers believe it is even more important than the sun sign for females. Regardless, though, it is generally agreed that whatever the sun sign, the moon sign will make itself known." She paused for a moment as the students finished writing, then waved her wand at the blackboard again. "For the remainder of the class, I want you to all consider how the moon is likely to manifest itself in each of the twelve signs. No, you won't need your books for this. Remember, the moon says 'I feel' and each of the signs has a meaning. We'll do the first together. What are the characteristics of Aries?" she asked, looking around. "Mr. Rigly?"  
  
"Aries is determined, agressive and energetic," he replied, to which Aislinn nodded.  
  
"Bravo! Five points to Hufflepuff! So, if the moon says 'I feel,' and Aries feels determined, agressive and energetic, what are some of the characteristics you would expect from an Aries moon? Anyone?" She looked around, and a lone hand came up, somewhat hesitantly. "Penelope?"  
  
"Impulsive?" Penelope asked rather than told. "Like maybe someone who makes snap judgements for his or her first impression, and never changes their mind?"  
  
"Fantastic! Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?" Two more hands came up, and Aislinn pointed with her wand. "Mr. Cathory, then Daniel."  
  
"Exciteable?" Charles Cathory offered, with no additional explanation, but it was good enough.  
  
"Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor! Daniel?"  
  
"A bad temper, maybe?"  
  
Aislinn's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Aries and temper? Surely you jest!" There was a bit of sniggering from her students who had learned that Aries and temper went together like peanut butter and jelly. "Ten points to Ravenclaw! Anyone else?"  
  
Fifteen minutes and a hundred and fifty points later, Aislinn declared that they'd beaten about as much out of the Aries moon as they were going to, and told them to spend the rest of the period working on the other eleven signs. She made a circuit of the room as they wrote, stopping here and there to answer a question or read over a shoulder, now and again kneeling at one of the desks to quiz a student, and so doing to guide him or her in the right path. She was so intent on her students, that she didn't notice anyone in her classroom until someone cleared his throat softly behind her.  
  
She whirled quickly enough that her robes fluttered out around her, and her heart leaped into her throat as she found herself facing none other than Severus Snape. And a very unhappy Severus Snape, by the looks of him. And what on earth would he have to be unhappy about? she thought sardonically. Smiling, she spoke from across the room. "Something I can do for you, Professor?"  
  
"A word, please." His reply was soft as a feather, and yet, he'd done it again. Three words and he'd struck fear into her heart. She put on a brave smile, and looked at her class.  
  
"Keep working," she told them. "I'll be back in a moment." Forcing her feet to move despite the fact that they felt as though they were leaden, Aislinn walked gracefully to the door and stepped ouside. Snape shut the door with a soft, yet audible click.  
  
"I do not appreciate your interrupting my class, Miss Carl-"  
  
"Ichalia," she corrected, interrupting him.  
  
His expression darkened. "Miss Ichalia. In the future..."  
  
"In the future," she interrupted him again, "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from keeping the students beyond your appointed time. Particularly if they have other classes to attend. Yours is not the only subject taught."  
  
A vein pulsed in his forehead, and Aislinn grimaced inwardly. You've bloody well done it now, she thought to herself, hope you've had a good life, and hope you enjoy the show as it passes before your eyes now. "I am certain, Miss Carlisle," he placed just enough emphasis on the word to make it clear that it was no mistake, his calling her that, "that studying rocks in the sky is important. However--"  
  
However, he was about to tell her that potions were more important, and she was having none of it. Indignantly, she put her hands on her hips and leaned foward. "However, it is not your place to decide that your class takes precedence over another. Now, Professor, I am finished discussing this. If you have more to say, you may set up an appointment with the Headmaster, and I will be more than willing to discuss it with him. Good day." Before she lost her nerve, she spun on her heel and stalked back into her classroom, where she resumed her patrol of the parchment. A few minutes before the bell rang, she interrupted their work.  
  
"If you will all please pass your papers in," she requested, and then lifted her voice above the shuffle of pages. "Your homework due next time, interview one of the first year students in your House, and determine where his or her moon is, then make a list of the expected characteristics of that moon. WHen you have finished, write a brief-- 12 to 18 inches-- report comparing the expectations to your own observations of whomever you interviewed. Class dismissed." Halfway through 'dismissed' the bell began to toll; her timing was perfect, as was usual.  
  
When the last of her students had left, she darted out herself, and hurried towards the staffroom, her head pounding a soft rhythm. 


	5. Nighttime Interludes

October 7  
  
"Hey, Miss Ichalia! You gonna be cheering for us tomorrow?"  
  
Aislinn spun around, and began walking backwards as her eyes scanned the throng of students leaving the Great Hall. After a moment, she found the one who had spoken, one of the Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. "Just try and stop me!" she called back, laughing. Tomorrow was the Slytherin/Gryffindor game, and Aislinn wasn't about to miss an opportunity to cheer for her own House. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe she'd be in the stands cheering against Slytherin when they played Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but it was a given that any game involving Gryffindor would find her decked out in scarlet and gold, yelling as loudly as the students. She wasn't supposed to take sides, being a teacher, but... Well, if he could so obviously cheer for Slytherin, then she was allowed to do the same for Gryffindor.  
  
She turned back around, and barely stifled a yawn; at one this morning, she had still been talking with McGonagall over a cup (well, a bottle) of some of the best whiskey she'd tasted in years. Theirs had been a meandering conversation, full of remember-whens and what-ever-happened-tos. They'd talked about Gryffindor, and how it was different now, and how it never changed; they'd talked about Quidditch and the Albanian team and the weather conditions during training. Minerva had asked if there was a man in Aislinn's life, a question which the effervescent Divination teacher usually avoided like the plague, but being deep into her cups by that time had just grinned and shook her head. After all, no one could ever live up to her high expectations, so she'd long since given up trying to find a man who would. Then, much to Minerva's seeming surprise, Aislinn had turned the question around, and, after a bit of hemming and hawing and a failed attempt to divert attention to Peeves' latest exploits, the Transfiguration Professor had finally admitted that she had her sharp eyes on someone, but, Minerva was not in her cups, it seemed, and was perfectly capable of resisting the temptation to tell all.  
  
Of course, had Aislinn gone to bed as soon as she and Minerva finished off the last of that whiskey, she most likely would hve been fine now, and certainly not yawning like she was trying to catch flies in her mouth. But, no, that visit had merely been an interlude, a break from reading over essays about the characteristics of Saturnian aspects. That had kept her up until close to 4, and, when she'd finally scrawled an 'E' on the last one and headed up to her bed for a precious three hours of sleep, she'd found, to her dismay, that she'd still not finished writing out the quiz she'd planned for the next class. By the time she finished that task, it was only two hours until her first class would arrive, and she'd grudgingly told herself that sleep was for weaklings anyway, and gone off to take a shower and brew some strong coffee. The rest of the day had passed in a numb blur, and, as she walked back to the staff room for a meeting, Aislinn felt that she could hear every individual footstep as it fell on the floor above her. Colors seemed brighter somehow, and the imperfections in the stone floor underfoot made her wince. Overly sensitive to light, sound and touch, she could only hope that the meeting would go quickly. She still had to mark another set of essays before she went to bed, after all.  
  
When she reached the staff room, she was pleased to find that she was the first in there, which meant she had a few moments to find a cup for coffee (tea was all well and good, but if she was going to survive the three hours left until ten tonight, she knew she needed something a bit stronger). While the coffee brewed, she rummaged through a cupboard in search of sugar and something that would pretend to be cream, and her hand paused as it landed on a small glass bottle, unmarked and clear. She held it up to the light, peering through it, trying to work out why it looked familiar to her when she heard the door open. It closed again, but there was no other sound. Well, she thought wryly, that must be the dear Professor Snape. Anyone else would have had the decency to speak. "Good evening, Professor Snape," she said neutrally, continuing to study the bottle.  
  
"Do you have a headache again?" he asked.  
  
Ah. That was what the potion was. She knew she'd seen it somewhere before, and it was so uncommon for her to forget something, but if it was the potion he'd given her when she had headaches (when she had headaches she told him about, that is), it stood to reason that she hadn't had a clear sight of the bottle. "No," she replied, "thank you for asking." She held up the jar, displaying it over her shoulder. "You should really label that, you know, before someone decides to use it to water a plant." She set it heavily on the counter and went back to her rummaging.  
  
The silence behind her thickened. There had been little between the two of them except silence for the last week, since the incident involving their classes. Severus, as it turned out, had not gone to the headmaster with the incident, which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Aislinn knew she was right, that he didn't have any business keeping the class so late. On the other hand, her own behaviour had been inexcusably juvenile, and she did not relish the thought of explaining herself to Dumbledore. It would seem that Snape felt similarly about the event, on the one hand wishing he could bring up to Dumbledore how she'd acted without exposing his own faux pas. Theirs was a mutually unspoken agreement to pretend that the entire event had never happened.  
  
Finally giving up on her search for cream, she set the sugar back into the cabinet as well; if she put sugar in her coffee, she certainly wanted cream as well, and vice versa, but was quite content to drink it black. It had finished brewing, and she poured herself a cup, but momentarily forgot that she wasn't speaking to the Potions Master. "Coffee?" she offered, and from the look that flickered across his face, the offer surprised him as much as it had her.  
  
"No, thank you," he replied, his tone falling just short of uncivilized. Or perhaps it was just her overall impression of him that fell just short of civilized.  
  
Shrugging, she seated herself at the table, studiously looking everywhere except at him, sipping her coffee, wishing she had thought to bring some of those essays that she needed to grade with her. The wait wasn't long, though, and thankfully neither was the meeting. A few announcements; there was a school dance planned for Halloween and all the teachers should plan to attend, the Quidditch games were beginning tomorrow (as though someone might have managed to miss that fact when the entire student body was abuzz talking about it) and teachers were to please make note of the Quidditch players and work detentions and extra assignments around practicing and playing schedules. Curfew was to be strictly observed by all students, and, as there had been problems of late, Dumbledore wanted the teachers to take turns patrolling the corridors (no surprise that Snape volunteered to take the first shift, that very night. Aislinn managed to get the fourth shift, on Thursdays.) Then, with as little ado as the meeting had begun, it ended, and Aislinn was the first one to leave the staff room and head for her own chambers.  
  
Stuffing her fist in her mouth to stifle a yawn, she made her way to her rooms, nodding and making unintelligible replies as McGonagall chatted mindlessly. The only intelligible thing she heard was when Minerva parted company and patted her on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Aislinn. You look like you could use it."  
  
Sleep, however, was not in the cards for Aislinn Ichalia. Not right away, at least. She paused in her room only long enough to change out of her robes and into a pair of slacks and a sweater before picking up the essays and a quill and heading back out again, cutting a path to her office, where she seated herself, lit a lamp, and spread out the essays.  
  
It was two o'clock when she suddenly jolted awake, and looked around, disoriented. A carpet of essays littered her desk, and she had fallen asleep with her head resting on her arms, an indention of her quill marring her cheek. She stretched, frowning, and looked at the stacks of essays; she'd only marked two and was less than halfway through the third, it appeared. All her lamp oil had burned out, and ink had dried on the end of her quill. She sighed, and swirled the quill in alcohol for a moment, then stood, leaving it to soak. She tried to slip out of her office quietly, but in the dark, she could see nothing, and the first thing she did was stub her toe. "Lumos," she muttered under her breath, pulling out her wand, and the end of it glowed softly, casting a light about as she regained her dignity, glad that, at least, Snape hadn't been anywhere around to see her stumbling in her own office. Over her own things that were scattered on the floor instead of on shelves where they belonged. She had a momentary flashback of being thirteen and sitting in his office, so orderly and neat, with every jar labeled and facing the front, not a speck of dust on the shelves and books aligned precisely, as though he had used a plumb line. And what do you care what he does or doesn't do with his office? she chided herself. Having thus decided she did not give a rat's ass what he might have had to say (and seeing how it was a moot point anyway since he was nowhere near her office) she set off down the corridors, her wand in front of her lighting her path. It was closer to the supply closet than it was to her bedroom, and, if she didn't have oil in her office she could certainly justify getting more.  
  
"What do you think you are doing?" A soft voice, barely above a whisper, that made her freeze in her tracks, it could only be one person, and, as so often happened when she wasn't expecting him, she was suddenly a student again, instead of a teacher. She spun around, her eyes open wide, and began stammering her response.  
  
"I- I was just... I was just going to get some more oil." Her reaction irritated her, and she rolled her eyes at herself, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to face him head on. "What business is it of yours, anyway?"  
  
As he stepped into the meager pool of light cast from her wand, his lips curved into a sneer. "I am patrolling the corridors. If you will remember, we each have a duty to do this once a week. Of course, if you would spend a little more sleeping at night instead of prowling around..."  
  
"So now it is my sleep schedule that you've taken an interest in?" she shot back in a feverish whisper. "Don't you have enough lives to manage without picking apart mine?"  
  
He moved out of the light and reappared behind her, his breathing the only sound she could hear. "The safety of our students is my concern, Miss Carlisle," he replied silkily, "and anything that jeopardizes that safety is of great interest to me."  
  
Aislinn folded her arms. "And what are you accomplishing hovering over my shoulder, then?" she challenged. "Do you think that I am a danger to the students?"  
  
He reappeared in front of her again, and she found herself wishing he'd stop that. It was bloody disconcerting. "I find irresponsibility a most greivous danger, yes."  
  
Her eyes widened indignantly, and she opened her mouth to retort, but giggling stopped her. She didn't need the warning look he shot her to whisper "Nox," and the glow subsided. His hand on her arm surprised her, as he pulled her back against the wall, and, had they not been hiding, she would have probably ordered him to let go of her. As it was, though, she simply bore the intrusion with as much grace as she could manage. As they stood there silently, she became oddly aware of how close he was to her; she could feel him shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, like a cat preparing to pounce. She could smell him, and, some part of her mind noted that, considering how greasy his appearance was, his smell was almost... pleasant. A soft, herbal smell clung to his robes and what else would you expect from a potions master? and his breath smelled faintly of tea. Overall, she thought, she could have found worse people to pin her against a wall, had she been trying.  
  
A pair of students slipped past them, and Aislinn felt him tense. The moment the students had passed, he sprang from the shadows. "What," his voice was like the slamming of a door, "are you two doing alone in the corridors at this time of night?"  
  
"I... we..." there was no explanation for it, and both seemed to know it. Snape lifted his wand.  
  
"Lumos," he said softly, and a weak light enveloped them, revealing the identities of the students. A Seventh year Ravenclaw boy and a Sixth year Slytherin girl, the girl looking decidedly pale, even in the washed out light. "Tut, tut," Snape said quietly, circling the two like a vulture. "I would have expected better from you, Miss Ledbetter. Get back to the Slytherin Common room, I will speak with you tomorrow. As for you, Mr. Bradshaw, I think perhaps you and I shall have a small talk. Come." As Snape ushered the boy, who now looked frightened enough to be ill, away to his office, Aislinn found herself staring silently after them. Neither of the students had even noticed her, it seemed. And Snape, she rather thought, had put her from his mind all together again.  
  
"Good," she murmured to herself as she set off for the supply closet again. 


	6. A challenge

October 8  
  
Nothing could have been farther from the truth. The truth of it was that Severus was having a bloody hard time forgetting about Hannah ever, and he didn't appreciate it really. After all, what gave her the right to invade his thoughts and mind, to linger in his vision even after she had left his sight? He had plenty of time to remember her, the delightful little 'o' that her mouth formed when she was angry, the way her eyes flashed indignantly. The way her hair had been falling around her shoulders like a cloak of ebony waves. The glint of indignation in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks... When he had stopped her, it had been because he saw a light moving through the corridor, and, if he were entirely honest, he hadn't recognized her with her hair down and without her robes. It struck him that she was very young still, which was something of a relief, as he'd been feeling increasingly old with her calling him 'Professor Snape' the same way she had when she was one of his students. He did not need to be reminded that he was old enough now to have seen students progress through his class and come back to teach.  
  
After a stern discussion with that Ravenclaw boy on the dangers of being out at night (most of which were courtesy of one Professor Severus Snape), the night had grown rather dull. He was only supposed to patrol the corridors once every couple of hours, but he didn't trust the little dunderheads to be quite so idiotic as to not recognize such an obvious pattern. So, he had spent the night prowling the castle, to disappointingly little effect, though it had given him the excuse he needed to note that Hannah once again did not go to bed before 4 am. How does she manage to stand if she isn't sleeping more than two hours a night? That was the puzzle that occupied his mind as he wandered, much different from the things he usually mulled over. Gone were the days, it seemed, when he could amuse himself indefinitely with a question of whether or not the properties of wormwood could be nullified by an infusion of bloodroot. Now, when he closed his eyes, it was sapphire eyes that he saw staring back at him, challenging him, daring him to misstep. He wasn't afraid of her, far from it in fact, but he was bewildered and amused among other things. He wished that he had the key to deciphering her mind and her words, but she was as much a mystery to him as those charts she hauled around with her.  
  
One thing was clear, though, and that was that he enjoyed provoking her, if for no other reason than to hear the indignant gasp before she began a tirade against him. It was rather like tormenting a kitten, he thought, fun and harmless.  
  
By the time dawn painted the grey castle with tendrils of rose, he had run the gamut from amused admiration to hopeless despair. However he thought of her, however he might remember, however she haunted his mind and his senses, there was always reality to contend with, and reality had never been kind to Severus. He might close his eyes and picture himself asking her to dance at the Halloween feast, and he might be able to imagine sweeping her across the floor so smoothly and gracefully that she would be putty in his hands... but the reality was that if he did ask her to dance, she would probably say no. Worse than that, she would probably laugh at him. He could tolerate being told no, but he wasn't so sure he could be gracefully accepting if she laughed in his face. Better not to even tempt fate. And, why wouldn't she laugh? Even he had to admit that on some level, the idea was amusing-- the greasy, oily git of a potion master with the laughing beauty who taught divination. Rather like seeing a rat and a peacock together.  
  
As the castle began to stir, Severus returned to his rooms, more morose than usual even. He paused at his mirror and gazed within, trying hard to be objective about what he saw, though objectivity certainly didn't improve the reflection. He still saw himself as fifteen, most of the time, with no friends and a pack of popular boys always around to gang up on him and try to bully him into defeat. He saw himself being tortured and tormented, his tormentors those boys to whom life came so effortlessly. He saw what they had seen all those years ago-- pathetic, greasy, dirty Snivellus who had no chance of ever finding a study partner, let alone a dance partner. When he looked at himself objectively, he saw a man who was aging rapidly, his face lined heavily, his teeth yellowed with time, his eyes sunken into his face and rimmed red. Maybe, he speculated idly, if my hair wasn't quite so limp and if I got a little more sun... He scowled. There was nothing that he could even fool himself into believing that someone might possibly find attractive, even 'if'. Not one bloody thing. With a sigh, he picked up a towel and tossed it over the mirror, then turned back into his bedroom to catch a half-hour of sleep before the day began, putting his appearance aside. Maybe he could find some legitimate excuse to bow out of that dance Dumbledore had planned. Maybe he could find a student or three to assign detention. He drifted off to sleep plotting how to get out of even showing up in the Great Hall on Halloween night.  
  
October 15  
  
The afternoon was waning, fading quickly into evening, and Aislinn was sitting in the staff room, papers spread around her, marking. Layered four pages deep on the table were the results of her students' first attempts at comprehensive chart interpretations, and Aislinn's own first attempts at grading such things. How much, for example, should she mark off for a long, narrative description of a classmate that was right on target but had very little basis in astrology? She frowned at that one for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, simply scrawled a note in the upper corner: 'see me.' She picked up the next chart and shook her head at what she saw and then nearly laughed at what she read. Someone had chosen Professor Dumbledore as a study, and had noted that his moon was responsible for his need for glasses. Her chuckling subsided slightly as she suddenly frowned, and reached for a book. She flipped it open, turning straight to a page about Aquarian moons, and read, tapping an obscure reference thoughtfully with one fingertip. Speculation that one born under an eclipse might well develop a 'blind eye' for those he or she liked. So, was Dumbledore's moon in eclipse? She picked up the chart again and frowned at it. Possibly, she conceded, if Emily Pinkerton's calculations were correct. Which they likely were not. She closed her eyes, considering. Emily was a Hufflepuff, and, while Aislinn generally didn't let such things influence her decisions, this time she couldn't help it. Had it been one of the Ravenclaws, or certain of the Slytherin or Gryffindors... Merlin's beard, had it been anyone but Emily, she would have been more inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Emily, however, had most likely made that comment based on the half-moon shape of Dumbledore's glasses rather than any attention to minute detail. With another sigh, she scrawled 'see me' in the corner of that page and set it aside as well. At this rate, she was going to have to meet with each individual student before assigning any grades at all.  
  
The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and, as there was no greeting, she assumed it was Snape. "Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said automatically, her voice distant as she was now absorbed in a new chart, this one of Professor McGonagall.  
  
There was no immediate response, though, and after a moment she looked up, simultaneously nervous and curious. She bit her tongue as she found him holding one of the charts and interpretations. Please don't lose that, she thought, but kept her mouth shut. She could at the very least pretend that she trusted him.  
  
"Do you really believe all this?" he asked finally, seating himself.  
  
She spent a moment considering her answer, and let the page she'd been reading fall to the table. "Well," she began finally, choosing her words, "I suppose it depends on precisely what you mean. Do I believe what that particular student has written? I don't know, it depends on what they wrote. Who is it?"  
  
He flipped the page back over to look at the name on it. "Jeremy Theuett," he replied, and turned it over again, reading.  
  
Aislinn shook her head. "Not a word. That boy couldn't find his bum with both hands and a lantern," she said, then covered her mouth hastily. "And I did not just say that." You idiot! she cursed herself. And what, you believe he isn't going to run straight to Dumbledore and... And nothing. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was actually chuckling.  
  
"I happen to agree," he said quietly. "But no, I did not mean this particular interpretation, but this," he gestured at the table, "in general."  
  
She thought for a moment, considering all the different ways to answer. HAdn't she been asked that question often enough that she should have an answer in store for it by now? Shouldn't it be as easy as one plus one? But it wasn't. Yes, she did believe in astrology, to a certain extent, but she did not believe it was fate written in the stars. But, how to explain that to a skeptic? And, if he was anything, Severus Snape looked a skeptic right then. Finally she shrugged. "I do," she replied simply.  
  
"Why?" He had placed the interpretation back on the table and picked up another.  
  
"Pardon me?" she asked, incredulous. As many times as she'd been asked if she belived in this rubbish as others were so wont to call it, Aislinn didn't think anyone had ever actually asked her why she believed in it. "Why not?"  
  
Snape shook his head. "You were always a bright girl," he told her, and she felt herself stiffen. A 'bright girl'. Just like when she was sitting in his class. "I just want to know what made you suddenly believe that the world's future is written in the stars."  
  
She couldn't decide if that was a compliment or an insult, so she dismissed it all together. "I do not believe that destiny is so easily read," she conceded. "When I look at a chart, it is a study of what is likely to happen, not of what will."  
  
"And what good is that?" he challenged.  
  
She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Professor," she began, but he interrupted her.  
  
"Please call me 'Severus'," he invited. "It makes me feel old for you to call me 'Professor.'"  
  
She blinked at that for a moment. You are old, she thought sourly, but refrained from saying that. "Very well. Severus. Would you have your students mix a potion if you did not know what might happen if they mixed it wrong?" She knew his answer to that; how many times had she seen him tell by looking into a cauldron which crucial ingredient had been left out?  
  
"No," he conceded, "but what does that have to do with Mercury?"  
  
She sighed softly. "If Mercury is in retrograde, for example, I know that miscommunication is likely. Therefore, I take extra precautions. I spend extra time explaining assignents, I avoid sending owls with important information. If the retrograde occurs in Capricorn, I don't bother trying to balance my accounts until the retrograde has passed. Would something certainly go wrong if I were not so careful? Very possibly. Possibly not. I might pass the two weeks without even noticing it, but again, I might regret carelessness. So, knowing that there is the potential for certain obstacles, why should I not take extra precautions? Just as when you are instructing your classes on poisons, you keep an antidote within reach."  
  
There was silence for a moment, as though he was considering what she'd said. "Then, I suppose you can prove it?"  
  
She sighed softly and shook her head. "My experience, Professor, er, Severus, is that if someone does not believe in divination, he never will, and there is no proof that will sway him."  
  
His lips quirked up into something that crossed a sneer and a smile. "Try me," he invited. She opened her mouth to protest, but as she sat there, looking at him, she suddenly felt a rush, a surge of excitement. It had been months since she'd last had a chart to analyze, and Aislinn found the lure of analyzing him most inviting.  
  
"Very well," she conceded with a small smile playing at her lips. "I need your date of birth including year, the time you were born and where you were born."  
  
For a moment, he looked slightly taken aback, and she considered the possibility that he hadn't really intended her to accept his challenge. Whatever hesitation there was, though, was fleeting, and his response was in the same trademark silken tones that he always used to speak. "January 1," he replied, and she scribbled on a spare bit of parchment. "1961. 2:45 am, London."  
  
"Right," she said, looking at the parchment, and then looking at the pile of parchment already on the table. "It will likely be a day or two before I can get to it," she told him, wishing that weren't the case. Already, she was just looking for an excuse to stop marking interpretations and begin to work on an interpretation of her own. It was like being given permission to rummage around in his soul, and she found the idea intriguing.  
  
"Ah, of course. You need to make discreet inquiries first, so you can be sure that what the stars say matches what everyone else says, isn't that it?"  
  
Indignation flared in her eyes, and she shot him a feral smile. "Not at all, Severus. And, if you insist, I will begin my interpretation now." That subtle goading had been all the shove she needed, and she stacked the parchment spread across the table together, then pulled a fresh sheet from the stack. She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor, then rummaged in it for a box of instruments, which she laid in front of her. Selecting a compass and ruler from the box, she began plotting the chart. 


	7. The Chart

Somehow, Severus got the impression that ha'd goaded Hannah into doing something she'd wanted to do anyway, and he found it marginally amusing. Leaning back into his chair, he braced his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers, watching her carefully over the tops of his fingertips. There was something graceful, and serious in her movements; a surety that marked a master. He was familiar with mastery. On the parchment in front of her, the chart began to materialize, first as a series of three concentric circles, then a line marking the diameter. She consulted a hefty book she'd placed aside on the table, and he watched as she flipped, seemingly randomly, through it. Whatever she was flipping past, though, seemed to mean something to her, and soon another line was bisecting the first, at an angle.

"And what is that?" he asked, the same tone he used to quiz his students from time to time. To his surprise, she answered, and there was no edge of defensiveness to her voice.

"The Medium Coeli," she pointed at the top of the circle where the line intersected the outermost ring, "and the Immum Coeli. Better known as the Midheaven and Nadir." He nodded, feeling alarmingly out of his element, and watched silently again as she divided each of the four pie shapes into three equal slices. She consulted another book, and made a small notation on the far left corner of the chart, then began dotting in additional lines, in blue ink, and soon the drawing was beginning to take shape. He leaned forward, despite himself, and watched as she capped her ink and chose another bottle, this one crimson to stand out against the black she'd been using. She wrote a careful 'AC' on the edge of the circle, then across from it, wrote 'DC', then labled the top 'MC' and the bottom 'IC', and then began filling in symbols and making notes on the page at her elbow. He moved his chair so he could read what she wrote, and couldn't help but be marginally impressed by how well she ignored his presense.

Sun, 10° Cap she wrote. _Moon, 1° Can. Mercury, 7° Cap. _She snorted softly as she penned in Venus, and he found himself wondering why, bristling a bit as he imagined various insults, though he couldn't see what was so bad about Venus at 25° Aquarius. Then again, he'd never paid much attention in the one divination class he'd taken. She nodded thoughtfully as she penned in Jupiter and Saturn, and Pluto was accompanied by another snort, which prompted her to pause for a moment and look at something closely, then look up at him, her brow suddenly furrowing. He had the most ridiculous urge to hide from her. After all the planets were noted, she went back down the list, making numerical notations beside the list she'd been compiling. Neptune gained a '1', and Mercury a '2'. The sun, Jupiter and Saturn each took on a '3' and Venus a '4'. She looked at him again after making that notation, and there was something different in her eyes this time, something he'd never seen. Her perusal of him was brief, though, and he watched as she added her notations to the moon (with another pause) and Mars, then scribbled the rest of them into place. Her hand went back to the top of the page, and she dotted the Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus and Mars, and then put down her quill and leaned back, studying him again.

"It isn't healthy, you know," she spoke softly, and he felt a shiver pass down his spine.

Stop it, he ordered himself, _this is how these 'seers' work. They offer a tidbit like that, and hope you take the bait and tell them what isn't healthy. Everyone has something in his life that isn't healthy, and there's know way she knows yours. Not from a few scribbles on parchment._ "Indeed."

She raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," she repeated, and it had an air of finality to it, like the answer to his rhetorical question. Thee was another pause, weighty, almost pregnant, then a question that surprised him marginally. "Who was she?"

She? Severus frowned slightly, but said nothing. _She can't possibly know._

If she did know, she dropped the subject, thankfully, but the next words she spoke were no more comforting. "Just because one person hurt you, Severus, is no reason to shut out the world. No matter how deep that hurt is." For a dreadful moment, he just stared at her, and she looked back, though he had the impression that her eyes were not stopping at his face. Automatically, he closed his mind to her, but to no end; it was not his mind she was reading, but his soul, and he felt raw and exposed suddenly. Then, abruptly, she looked away.

"I'll work on this later," she said softly. "I need to finish marking these..." He nodded, not daring to try and speak past the lump in his throat. "I'll finish it as soon as I can," she said, with the air of a promise, as though she were promising something likely to save his life. He rather thought she was going to try and end it instead. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

"Severus, I..." his eyes flung open again, and his breath caught on the lump in his throat as he stared at her hand, which was lying atop his. He stood abruptly.

"I have a class," he said pointlessly, and turned on his heel, walking out of the staffroom.

* * *

As it turned out, Aislinn did not put the chart aside after Snape had left the staffroom, and, she was up most of the night making notes about it, the interpretation rolling from her quill as though it had a mind of its own. The first thing she found was that, oddly enough, she couldn't seem to be objective about the chart, and every time she wrote his name, she paused, thinking abuot the Potions Master and what he would think when he read it. Finally, she stopped trying, and instead of referring to him as Severus, or Snape, or even S, she fell into a technique she often advised her students to use. _Refer to your subject as that-- 'the subject'. It is easier to write difficult things about 'the subject' than it is to write about your friends. _She found her belief in that technique reinforced as she began to use it herself.

The subject, she wrote, _is a Capricorn, with Scorpio rising. The activity is grouped largely in the third and fourth houses, with smaller groups in the eighth and tenth. A stellium of Mercury, the Sun, Jupiter, Saturn and Juno forms an powerful network in Capricorn, filling the Mercury-ruled third house with energy. This placement suggests a need for control. The combination of Saturn and Mercury is noteworthy; these are not two planets which work well together. Mercury is quick-minded and quick-witted, fleet-footed and ever-changing, while Saturn imposes limits that Mercury does not appreciate. This uneasy partnership would suggest a love of riddles and wordplay, and a difficulty plainly expressing what is meant._

Juno and Jupiter in the Third House as well would indicate an unpleasant mix of feelings. While alone, either Jupiter or Juno is a harbinger of fortune, when coupled together they are at their worst, producing a tendency towards bickering. (When Severus read that, it was his turn to snort) _That all of this is in Capricorn, which is also the sun sign and therefore of even greated importance, would also suggest a certain tactless, taciturn wit; Capricorn is not known for sparing feelings._

This gathering of powerful energy is set up in an inexact opposition to the Moon, which is hidden deep in the inner reaches of the eighth house, of secrets, just peeking into Cancer. A Cancer moon is one of the most deeply feeling moons in the heavens, a moon that needs protection from the dangers that lurk around every corner. The Cancer moon has a need to be nurtured, but tucked away in the eighth house, it is unlikely that the subject is willing to express this need. (It was here that Aislinn vowed to herself to be kinder to the gloomy Professor Snape.) _Indeed, when set in oppostion to Mercury in Capricorn, it is likely that the subject utilizes biting wordplay to drive off potential sympathy; Cancer moon is deeply afraid of being hurt._

This moon, which is conjunct Mars and therefore energized by the red planet's vigor, is also part of a Grand Trine encompassing an Aquarain Venus and a Scorpio Neptune. Aquarius is not the most natural position for beauty-loving Venus, and does not lend itself to romanticism in this chart, yet there is still a connection to the other feminine energies in the chart. This Water Trine should not be ignored, as doing so would be to underestimate the subject's ability to feel and to love. Granted, it is likely easy to do just that; Aquarian Venus is too preoccupied with matters of the mind to listen to matters of the heart, and Cancer moon is too afraid of being hurt to emerge into the world alone. A Scorpion-ruled Neptune provides the defenses that the Moon needs to hide, and the Aquarian Venus justifies them splendidly. It is, perhaps, to be expected that the subject seems far too prickly to be human.

As she dotted a period at the end of that sentence, Aislinn leaned back, folding her arms across her stomach, her heart aching for a man whom she now believed to be just short of a prisoner of his own fear of rejection. A tear slipped down her cheek, rolling off her chin as she remembered the things she and her classmates had said about him when they were students at Hogwarts. She wished fervently that she could take those things back now, and treat him with a little more compassion. Taking a steadying breath, she dipped her quill in the ink pot again.

If there is not enough isolation in the chart already courtesy of the Moon and Neptune, there is an additional source in the tenth house. The MC is in Leo, which suggests a strong need for recognition, and with Uranus cutting the MC's path, there is little doubt that the subject has no qualms about using unconventional means to gain recognition. It is worth noting here that it is not power that the subject seeks, but recognition. A Leonine Midheaven will be devastated if it is not recognized and praised for a job well done, and, as there are no balancing factors present in the chart, it is likely that the subject reverts to his general prickly defenses when he does not feel he is being properly respected.

The influence of Pluto in the tenth house in Virgo suggests a certain compulsive orderliness, and, in sextiles with the Moon and Neptune, there is a tendency for this compulsive orderliness to be obsessive even, perhaps even to the point that his mental health suffers when his sense of orderly comfort is disrupted.

Almost as stunning as the activity regions of the chart are the areas that are left entirely blank. There is not one planet influencing the Fifth, Sixth or Seventh Houses, which are the Houses most closely associated with other people. The Fifth House, often associated with lovers and children and passion in general, is disturbingly untouched, as is its neighbor, Virgo-ruled Sixth House which governs the subject's sense of altruism, as well as his awareness of his own health. The Seventh House of partnership is also empty, again reinforcing that the subject is likely a very lonely man.

Severus winced as he read those lines, and then read them again. There was nothing earth-shattering in the revelation that he was lonely, of course, but something about seeing it written made him wish it were not true. Of couse, he was alone by choice, by and large. He didn't want people bothering him... _Afraid to feel?_

The sole influence in the First House is Neptune, which once again does not bode well for the subject. Neptune is the planet least grounded in reality, and, with such a prominent placement (not to mention the aspects it forms with so many planets), one must question how realistic the subject's view of himself is. Neptune has a gift for seeing what it wants to see (or, in some cases doggedly seeing what it does not want to see) and Neptune's challenge will always be to confront reality.

Severus paused at that, and re-read it several times. Was she saying he had an unnecessarily harsh personal image, or that he had a tendency towards turning a blind eye to his reputation and thereby seeing himself more positively than he should? He mulled that over in his mind for a moment. He set the parchment aside. He'd had enough.__


	8. Head Over Heels

October 28   
  
The bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the day, and the doors to the dungeon burst open, students spilling out like a wave of black, giggling and chattering excitedly. The last two weeks had been building towards a crescendo, and now, with Halloween and the celebrations accompanying it lurking only three days away, there was a sense of excitement that pervaded the corridors and left everyone feeling marginally dizzy. Aislinn was, to her irritation, not immune to the excitement and mounting sense of anticipation, though she could honestly say that her reasons were a bit different from the students'. For the last two weeks, she had been trying to find a moment to talk to Severus, but that man was not only greasy, but he was _slippery_ too. As soon as she thought that, she felt ashamed of herself, but it was the truth, on both accounts. Just because she had determined that she was going to be kinder to him didn't mean she was suddenly no longer of the opinion that he could do with a good hair-washing.   
  
For the last two weeks, he'd managed to avoid her, always being just far enough ahead of her that she couldn't catch him, always excusing himself from the staff room just as she arrived, never sitting idly in his office. Short of going to his private chambers to look for him-- an idea that did not appeal to her on any level-- she couldn't see how she was supposed to get him alone for five minutes to talk. And that was all she wanted to do, to talk to him. Well, she might want to do a little more than talk (though precisely what seemed to vary considerably according to how irritated she was with his evasive maneouvres; sometimes she wanted to hug him and sometimes to slap him) but it was a short, private conversation that she wanted badly enough to keep pursuing him, even after he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't want to talk to her. She felt that she owed him an apology (which was simply absurd, as she kept reminding herself) for the interpretation she'd left with him. She had let her pride carry her away with that one; as soon as she'd seen that moon, she'd known that he wasn't going to appreciate having his soul laid bare. But she had not been willing to pretend that he was right, that she couldn't find anything worth noting. She just wanted to talk to him.   
  
She nearly missed him when he came bursting out of the dungeon; in those black robes and with a stack of books in his arms, he could almost have passed for one of the students to a casual observer (very casual, as it happened; there was little doubt that he was twice the age of the oldest students if one looked at his face, and even his robes didn't look anything like the students' robes). She took off after him. "Severus!" she called, lifting her voice above the din of the students. He didn't even look over his shoulder at her. "Severus!" she called again, increasing her own pace, but he was outdistancing her, despite the fact that she was running. "_Professor Snape!_" she called again, louder this time, and breaking into a run. This time he _did_ look over his shoulder at her, and she knew that he saw her. He did not stop, though, and did not slow. She sighed, exasperated and set off at an outright run to try and catch up with him. Shoes with three inch heels, however, are not ideal for running on the uneven floors of the dungeons, and a most unlady-like curse escaped her mouth as she fell, loudly enough that students stopped in their tracks to stare at her. Severus also stopped, and turned, looking on the verge of ignoring, but apparently changed his mind.   
  
"Go on," his voice, despite being barely above a whisper, sliced through the students and sent them backing away from her. Except for one Hufflepuff seventh year who was still inquiring as to whether or not she was injured. Severus came to a halt directly behind him. "I said go," he said softly, and the boy's eyes widened, but he nodded and stood. When they were alone in the dungeon corridors, Snape knelt beside her and moved the edge of her robe to expose her ankles. "Which one hurts?" he asked.   
  
It was Aislinn's turn to feel a bit exposed, which was utterly ridiculous as it was only her ankles. "The left," she said softly, and he took her foot in his hands, then moved in front of her, stretching her leg out and gingerly removing her shoe and frowning slightly at it. He said nothing, though, as he placed the shoe aside and gasped her foot in one hand and her leg in the other and applied a slow, gentle pressure, extending the ankle. She drew her breath in with a hiss and dug her fingernails into the floor to keep from whimpering. He moved her foot one way, and then another, and finally let go.   
  
"I don't think it's broken," he said decisively, "likely just sprained." He edged closer to her, taking her hand. "Do you think you can stand if I help you?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, bracing her hand against his. He stopped her from rising, though. "Perhaps you should take off the other shoe as well?" he suggested, and she blushed faintly that she hadn't thought of that.   
  
"Of course," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, given the circumstances. She slipped the strap off her ankle and edged the shoe from her foot, and he took it from her, placing it carefully beside the other shoe. She struggled to stand and gain her balance, trying not to depend too much on him; he barely looked strong enough to hold up a small child, let alone an adult. His hand was surprisingly steadying, though, and as she took a hesitant step, she was grateful for that, as she could not put any pressure at all on her left foot. He frowned a bit, and looked at the stairs, then shook his head.   
  
"It might be prudent, Miss Ichalia, to go to my office, and I will go to the hospital wing and get some additional help." She started to protest that she didn't need to go to the hospital wing and was perfectly capable of getting upstairs by herself, but she thought better of it and nodded.   
  
"Of course," she conceded. _The last thing you need is to create more of a hassle for him. Good way to get his attention._   
  
The process of limping across the dungeon to his office was a slow, painstaking one, taking much longer than it normally should have. By the time they reached his office, both were thoroughly exhausted, and he left her standing near the door, holding onto a shelf for support while he moved a chair over for her to sit in. As soon as she was settled, he breathed a sigh, of relief perhaps? _He'll be even more relieved when you're out of his office entirely,_ she thought bitterly. He didn't say anything, though, as he moved another chair in front of her, and waved his wand at the seat. A soft cushion appeared, and he placed her foot on it.   
  
"Are you comfortable?" he asked, and, when she nodded, he continued. "Then I'll be back in a moment." He turned away from her and was halfway out the door before he paused and looked over his shoulder again "Please," he said silkily, "don't try to stand." And he was gone.   
  
"Professor Snape!" Severus looked over his shoulder and affixed a stern look on the Hufflepuff who had been the last to leave the dungeon.   
  
"What is it, Mr. Hill?" he asked, not slowing down. The boy fell beside him, looking uneasy yet determined.   
  
"Is Professor Ichalia all right?" he asked, worry edging his voice.   
  
Severus' mouth tightened, though mostly out of the knowledge that he could fall face first down the stairs and none of _his_ students were likely to notice. And those who did notice were likely to laugh. They certainly wouldn't be asking if he was all right. "She'll be fine," he replied tightly, and increased his pace. The quickening turned out to be unnecessary, though, as the boy slowed and veered away, seemingly content with the answer he'd received.   
  
Taking the steps two at a time, Severus swept to the hospital wing and burst in through the doors. Poppy looked up, startled, then finished what she was doing before coming to stand before him. "Yes, Severus?" she asked as he came to a halt.   
  
"Hannah has fallen again," he said testily, and, at the look of confusion that crossed the nurse's kindly face, he closed his eyes with an air of long-suffering patience. "Aislinn," he amended.   
  
Poppy's eyes widened. "Good Heavens!" she said, bustling to a cupboard. "Is she badly injured?"   
  
Severus shook his head. "A sprained ankle, I believe, but in a fair amount of pain."   
  
"Well, where is she?"   
  
He closed his eyes again, wishing for the fifth time that Hannah had had the sense to sprain her ankle somewhere more convenient and less requisite of an explanation. "The dungeon," he replied, opening his eyes just in time to see the flicker of surprise across Poppy's face.   
  
"Where, precisely?"   
  
Severus scowled. "I shall be more than happy to show you," he said, but Madame Pomfrey was having none of it.   
  
"Nonsense," she said firmly. "You tell me where she is, then go find someone to help carry her back upstairs. Now, where is she?"   
  
After a few more feeble protests, Severus decided it wasn't worth the effort to argue with her. "She's in my office," he replied, and then turned on his heel to head to the staff room.   
  
When he reached the staff room and opened the door, three heads popped up to look at him: Dumbledore, McGonagall and Jordan Mickery, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Snape spared a special glower for Mickery, out of principle. So far, he'd yet to find anything to not like about the man, except for the obvious fact that he had the job Severus wanted for himself. Dumbledore cleared his throat softly. "Are you joining us, Severus, or just holding up the door?"   
  
Severus forced his eyes away from Mickery and put the man firmly from his mind. "Hannah has fallen again," he announced, schooling his voice to a dispassionately informative tone. "She is in the dungeon, and I hoped to find someone to help with the process of getting her upstairs again."   
  
"Who?" Mickery queried, just as Minerva asked, "Is she hurt?" her sharp eyes softening a bit, and yet holding him in a way that made him think she was somehow blaming _him_.   
  
"She hurt her ankle," he said, ignoring Mickery, who had looked to Dumbledore for an explanation, which was provided in a soft voice. "I don't think it's broken. Headmaster, will you..."   
  
Mickery stood, and waved Dumbledore down. "Don't worry about it, I'll help."   
  
Severus turned a displeased scowl to the man, but at a warning look from Dumbledore, he turned sharply and stalked back towards the dungeons.   
  
He reached the dungeons several steps ahead of Mickery, but he had only a few seconds with Madame Pomfrey and Hannah before Mickery appeared behind him. Just long enough to ask "How is she?"   
  
"She's going to live, I'm sure, but likely not in those shoes again any time soon."   
  
"Well," Severus said, "that isn't necessarily a bad thing..."   
  
"AHEM." Three sets of eyes swivled to Hannah, who was looking rather adorably indignant. "I am, contrary to popular belief apparently, still conscious and quite capable of answering questions about myself. Am I finished, Madame Pomfrey?" she asked pointedly, and Severus' mouth quirked into a tight-lipped smile as Poppy crossed her arms, staring the younger woman down.   
  
"I think we will take her back to the hospital wing," Poppy said, speaking over Hannah's head again, much to Severus' amusement. "She doesn't seem to have developed a scrap of sense since she was fifteen."   
  
The abashed look that crossed Hannah's face, met by a stern look from Poppy, said that there was something significant about that statement, but Severus didn't know what it was. He also wasn't interested in revealing his ignorance to the matter, so kept his mouth shut.   
  
"I suppose we should have brought a stretcher," he commented, looking about, but that... swaggering... imbecile... stepped forward, waving Severus away.   
  
"Nonsense, Severus, I'll be more than happy to carry her up myself," he said with a smile that was too friendly for Severus' liking. "If Miss Ichalia does not object, that is."

Absurdly, Severus found himself hoping _Miss Ichalia_ would object, but she was smiling back at the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. "Thank you, Jordan," she said, and Severus wondered if he was imagining the velvet caress her voice gave his name.   
  
As Mickery bent and slipped an arm under her knees, his other behind her back, and lifted her easily, Severus found another reason for unjustified hatred.   
  
The only thing that soothed his irritation (and only slightly) was when he heard a soft question from the other man: "What happened when you were fifteen?"

"Severus, wait!" Aislinn sighed, frustrated, wishing all these people would go away and leave her _alone_ so she could accomplish what she'd been trying to do when she tumbled over her own damn feet. He paused, and looked at her, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing, and that silence spoke volumes, she was afraid. She took a deep breath and gestured for him to come over, and, somewhat to her surprise, he did just that. "I'd like a word," she said pointedly, and Poppy suddenly stopped whatever it was she was doing-- fussing with a bandage it seemed-- to look at her. Jordan's eyes were also on her, as were Dumbledore's (when had he and Minerva arrived?) McGonagall was looking sternly at Snape.   
  
"Yes?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.  
  
"Alone," she asserted, and, to her fury, his mouth quirked into a slight sneer.  
  
"If you haven't noticed, we are not precisely alone here. If you want to say something..."  
  
"Severus!" She was sitting up now, and that caused an uproar, a scampering of activity as Jordan suddenly remembered he had some pressing appointment and made his goodbyes (though not without giving her hand another squeeze, which was almost enough to make up for the fact that he was there to begin with; she'd be blind if she didn't think he was handsome.) Poppy was insisting in no uncertain terms that no one was driving her from Professor Ichalia's bedside until that ankle was properly wrapped and the patient was settled. Dumbledore had a hand on her shoulder, and was whispering something that was lost on Aislinn as she focused her attention on Snape, who appeared to be receiving the sharp edge of Minerva's tongue for some reason unbeknownst to Aislinn.  
  
"Enough!" Aislinn blinked; she didn't think she'd ever heard Severus raise his voice, and it seemed to have surprised everyone else as well. "I will come back this evening, Miss Ichalia, and you may have as many words as you like. In the mean time, I think there are more than enough people here, and I am going to reduce that number by one. Good afternoon." There was an air of finality to what he had said, and, with no further ado, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the door, leaving Aislinn lying there, blinking at his back.  
  
Silence and stillness permeated the room for a moment, uncomfortable and palpable, and then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, I can't help but say that I am forced to agree with Severus. If there is no reason for my presence...?" When no one rushed to invite him to stay, he nodded. "Then I bid you all a good afternoon." He patted Aislinn's hand, and smiled. "I will come check on you this evening," he assured her. "If there is anything you need, be sure to let me know, and I will see to it." And, with considerably less drama but no less finality than Snape, he left the room as well, leaving the three women alone.  
  
"Well, I must say that you know how to draw attention, Aislinn," Minerva commented dryly, to which Aislinn gave her no response save a level look. "What was all that about?"  
  
Aislinn collapsed back against her pillows again, and draped an arm over her eyes, the beginnings of a headache whistling behind her left ear. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said obtusely. Had her eyes been open, she likely would have seen Minerva and Poppy exchanging skeptical looks.  
  
Minerva patted her arm. "I'll go find your nightclothes," she said, abandoning the topic of the little outburst from a moment ago, much to Aislinn's relief.

Twenty minutes later, Aislinn was wearing amethyst silk pajamas, and a rose-colored dressing gown, her swollen ankle propped on a pile of pillows at the foot of the bed. The sounds of dinnertime drifted into the hospital wing, but she ignored them, much as she ignored the throbbing in her ankle and the hammering in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself somewhere else, somewhere more comfortable and less… sterile—Merlin's Beard how she hated medical units! She'd almost succeeded in imagining herself in a garden when she heard the doors open, and soft footfall on the stone floor.

Probably Severus, she thought dismissively and tried to gather the courage to open her eyes and let the spear-like light wedge into her brain.

"Are you asleep?" came a soft query, in a voice that was too tender to belong to Snape. She opened her eyes, and her mouth formed a small 'o' as recognition seeped over her.

"Jordan!" she gasped, struggling to sit up, but he crossed over to her bed quickly and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't try to sit," he said softly, glancing over his shoulder. "If Madame Pomfrey thinks I'm disturbing you, she'll run me out. And that's provided she doesn't wring my neck first."

Aislinn smiled a bit, and cast her eyes to the foot of her bed, wishing she was dressed more appropriately. "I… er," she faltered as her eyes drifted back to Jordan and his emerald gaze muddled her senses.

"Oh," he said, his grin widening, a dimple appearing in his cheek, "I nearly forgot." He held out his hand, and a dozen white roses suddenly appeared, which he offered her. "To brighten your bedside."

She laughed delightedly, as though she'd never seen anyone conjure flowers before. In truth, she'd never seen anyone conjure flowers for her, and she did love white roses. "Thank you!" she said, taking them and burying her face in the fragrant blossoms, inhaling their perfume deeply. "They're beautiful!" She laid them gingerly on the bedside table, her smile still broad, and patted the mattress near her knees. "Have a seat?" she asked, and, to her delight, he did.

"How's your ankle?" he asked, and she shrugged dismissively.

"It hurts," she replied a bit sheepishly, "but I'll live."

He smiled. "It's a shame you injured yourself so near the dance," he said in a tone that would have almost passed for casual, but made her heart lurch anyway. "I was rather hoping I would be able to steal a dance or two Sunday night."

Aislinn smiled much more broadly than she really felt. "Poppy says that if I stay off my foot, I should be walking again by the feast. And, I don't see much difference between walking and dancing, do you?"

He laughed, and her heart melted. "In that case, Miss Ichalia, you had best work hard at staying off your feet; I will be _most_ disappointed if I don't have the pleasure of your company."


	9. Offerings of Peace

Normally, dinnertime was pleasant and _quiet_, but this evening, there was a certain buzz to the Great Hall, and everyone from the students to the Headmaster seemed to be talking about _Miss Ichalia's_ sprained ankle. McGonagall blamed him for it, of that much Severus was certain, though he didn't quite follow the logic of _how_ she expected him to be responsible for another person's clumsiness. He was, however, treated to that explanation over a spinach casserole that was as tasteless to him as everything else always was.

"…and precisely how long has she been trying to talk to you, anyway?"

The direct question elicited a sigh from Severus. "Two weeks," he replied, taking a rather large bite of the casserole, in hopes that it would deter Minerva from asking any more questions. A bout of wishful thinking, as it turned out.

"Two weeks! Then you _have_ been avoiding her! Shame on you, Severus. What has come over you? That is not like you at all?"

He finished his chewing thoughtfully and took his time with a swallow of wine. _Well, you see, Minerva, I'm afraid that she's going to be bothering me about something ridiculous. Something like gushing that she understands me now that she's looked at a collection of glyphs and numbers. I don't want to endure the false sympathy, and I'm more than a little disturbed by the seeming accuracy of some of her statements, though I know logically that they are vague enough to apply to anyone and she can't possibly know anything about me. If you will remember, Minerva, there are things I do not wish to discuss with anyone, particularly the pretty new divination teacher who was making eyes at Jordan when he carried her to the hospital wing. I may not believe she knows, but I am not stupid enough to believe she doesn't have the capacity to find out those things that I prefer no one to know. So, I thought I would make it easier on the both of us and just avoid her, which is really quite easy to do. Unfortunately, I underestimated her persistence, and I hadn't the foresight to imagine her running through the dungeons while wearing those contraptions that she calls shoes. Does that explanation meet with your approval?_ He rather imagined it would not, so wisely refrained from any of it. "I have not been avoiding her," he replied aloud. "I simply haven't made any special effort to speak to her."

"Well," Minerva said with a huff, jabbing her fork into her plate. "We certainly all heard you say quite plainly that you would give her the word she has been seeking tonight, and I for one will hold you to that."

Severus sighed and let his fork clatter to his plate, then took another swallow of wine. "Very well, Minerva," he replied quietly. "I will go now, and then perhaps you will all leave me alone to my much more _characteristic_ solitude." He dropped his napkin on the table and stalked out of the Great Hall, his passing causing a ripple of silence at the student tables as he barged past them.

He wasted no time getting to the hospital wing, and burst through the doors, wishing he'd had the presense of mind not to make such a bloody ridiculous promise in front of everyone. Why couldn't he have just slipped out the door and pretended he didn't realise that Hannah wanted to talk to him? Or better yet, why couldn't he have just sucked it up a week ago, so that none of this would have ever bloody happened? He didn't want to play the role of villain here, but he knew that this was precisely the role he'd been cast in, and he couldn't help but think that the role fit, a little too well for his comfort.

He slowed as he reached the bed where she'd been when he left earlier, and stopped dead in his tracks. He'd been expecting her to be alone, possibly asleep. He had _not_ expected to find Mickery sitting on the bed beside her, holding her hands in his and smiling a smile that even Severus could tell was charming. He stood several feet away for a long moment, partially concealed by one of the curtains, watching.

_And what does he have that I don't?_ he asked himself, but the response was immdiate and not one he'd particularly wanted to hear. _Shall we start with charm and poise? Mickery, at least, doesn't look like a bat. He doesn't have a hook nose. He looks like he spends his summers out of doors rather than in a dungeon. His arms are muscular; you can see that even under those robes. He has a smile that is… well, if I were a woman I think I'd find it attractive. And he looks like he knows how to treat a woman. Unlike you._

Severus folded his arms, and his eyes drifted to a bouquet of roses lying on the bedside table. _He probably brought those. Good idea, Mickery. Why didn't I think of that?_ His eyes drifted to Hannah, and he felt a lump rising in his throat—she was beautiful, even lying in that bed. Her hair hung past her shoulders in softly shining waves, her face was flushed, her smile broad. The colors she wore brought out the colors in her face, and made her look even more alive, somehow. And that foot, swollen though it was, even it looked pretty somehow, with toenails that were painted a bright shade of pink.

You idiot, he cursed himself, _what does it matter what color her toenails are?_

Sighing softly, he stepped forward, and cleared his throat, standing very still so that his black robes settled around him. Hannah looked up, and her smile, though still present, changed somehow. "Severus," she called, extending a hand to him. He stood where he was.

Mickery cleared his throat and looked from Severus to Hannah and back, then returned his attention to the woman. "If there is _anything_ you need, Aislinn, be sure to let me know. Get some rest," he told her, lifting her hand to his lips. The little display was enuogh to make Severus gag. "Good evening, Miss Ichalia." He left her bedside, and nodded to Severus on his way out. "Severus."

Only after he'd heard the _click_ of the doors did Severus step forward. "You had something you wished to say to me?" he prompted without preamble.

Hannah gestured for him to come closer, which he did, and she waved at the bed. "Would you like to sit?" she asked him, making him wince inwardly. Either this was going to be bad enough that she didn't want him standing, or it was going to take long enough that she thought he needed a seat. Either way, the prospects did not look good.

He considered refusing her offer, but, after a quick mental chiding, he conceded. Halfway. Rather than sitting on the edge of the bed as Mickery had, Severus drew his wand from his robes and conjured a chair, into which he sank. "Yes?" he prompted her again, now that he was at eye-level with her.

Her smile faded somewhat, and she dropped her hand onto the bed again. "I…" she began, then trailed off quickly as though thinking how to breach the subject, whatever it was. He had plenty of time to study her face, and note that her eyes seemed glazed again. He wondered if her head was hurting.

He propped one foot on his other knee and leaned back in the chair, supporting his elbows on the arms and waiting for her to decide to speak. _However long it takes, I can bloody well be patient this time,_ he told himself firmly, watching her, waiting for her to decide to start talking. Seconds ticked past, and she said nothing, and the seconds turned into minutes. There was a fly buzzing around the goblet of water on her table, landing and then taking flight again, many times over. He imagined he could see the world through that fly's eyes. _And what would you see, Severus? A man and a woman, both too stubborn to start talking?_

After several silent moments had passed with no more than a few false starts from Hannah, Severus finally sighed and put both his feet on the floor again. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "What did you want to discuss?" he asked pointedly.

She reached one hand out again, and, after a moment of consideration, he took it in his. He was rewarded with a smile. "I just wanted to apologize," she said softly after another pregnant pause.

Severus winced inwardly. He had known this was coming. "You have no need to apologize," he began, and she interrupted.

"But I do," she insisted. "There were things I said in that interpretation that I should not have, Severus. I should not have even done it. I-"

He stared disbelieving for a moment, then began to chuckle. "You are apologizing because you read my chart?" he asked incredulously. He had not been expecting _that_ from her. "Hannah," he began, and spoke in synchronization with her as she corrected him, "Aislinn, you may read that chart until the parchment crumbles to dust. You'll find nothing in it worth knowing, though."

The look on her face said plainly that she disagreed, but she nodded. _She doesn't know anything,_ he insisted to himself, for the sake of his own sanity. He moved his chair a bit closer to her bed and squeezed her hand gently. "Was that what you've been wanting to talk to me about?" he asked quietly, and she nodded. A pang of guilt pierced his heart. Bloody hell. She'd wanted to apologize, and he had run away from her until… his eyes drifted back to her swollen ankle and he sighed. "Don't give it another thought," he told her. "Get some rest." He stood, about to leave, but she was still gripping his hand, and pulled him back down.

"I also wanted to apologize for… my attitude these past few weeks," she told him, and he looked at her for a moment, then sat again. He obviously wasn't going anywhere just yet.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, and she took a deep breath.

"I've behaved rather immaturely towards you, Severus, and I just wanted to say I was sorry. For comments I've made."

He tried to remember any comments she _had_ made, but could think of none. Unless they were comments not made in his hearing. Bloody hell. He had enough to be insecure about without worrying about what people said _out_ of his hearing. "Look," he said, glancing over his shoulder again to make sure they were alone. "I know you don't like me, and you don't have to. I know that the students don't like me and they don't have to either. I'm not here to be liked, and…" he shrugged a bit, pulling his hand away from her, "there's no need to apologize for it. Is that all?"

She was quiet for a moment, and he took the silence as his cue to leave again, but once again she caught his hand. "Severus?" she asked, and he sat a third time.

"Yes?"

She swallowed and was quiet again for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer than he would have given her credit for being capable of. "I was hoping to extend an offer of friendship," she said hesitantly.

He stared at her. "Of what?" he asked, incredulous.

"Friendship." She let go of his hand and draped her arm across her face, and he wondered again if she had a headache and if he dared suggest she take something for it.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious of her offer and putting her potential headache out of his mind.

She turned her head to look at him from under her arm, and a smile touched her lips, though not her eyes. "Life is too short for hatred," she replied, something distant in her voice. "Particularly for unjustified hatred. I think that the older I get, the more I appreciate what it means to have friends around me."

He at quietly for a long moment, staring, his mind churning around what she'd just said, trying to lock onto all the facets of it. Hatred? He'd known she didn't particularly like him, but he'd never thought it was hatred. Was it someone else's hatred, then? His own, perhaps? She'd always been observant, he remembered that from when she was a student, perhaps she'd picked up his dislike of Mickery? And life was too short? That sounded decidedly fatalistic coming from someone so young as she, and someone who had simply turned her ankle, not someone who was facing death. The older she got? If she was old that made him… Bloody hell.

"Han—Aislinn," he sighed, and made a vow to be more conscientious about getting her name right, "I appreciate what you're saying but…"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think you do."

He sighed again and stood, but didn't make to leave. "Why?" he asked at last, turning to look at her again. "And none of the nonsense this time, about life being too short. _Something_ made you decide that now was the time to bring this up, and I want to know what it was."

Something flickered across her face, but he kept his mouth shut. "I don't think you'd like the answer…" she said softly.

I don't doubt that, he thought bitterly. "Try me," he said.

"Your chart-" _No, I don't like that answer, _"suggested… well, you read what I wrote… didn't you?" He nodded. "And combined with what I've seen, what I remember…" she shrugged and trailed off for a moment. "I just had the impressiont hat perhaps it was true—you don't let anyone know you, do you, Severus?"

He remained silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "No," he said softly, "I do not. And with good reason."

She reached for his hand again, and he wasn't going to let her touch him, but, as she reached farther he thought better of stubbornness. He could just see her rolling out of the bed, and could only imagine trying to explain _that_ one. He let her curl her fingers around his. "I won't ask you why not," she said quietly, surprising him, "not unless you want to tell me. And if you do, I'll listen without judgement," again he found himself wondering if she could possibly know more than he thought she did; how else could she know that there were things in his past that he did not want to be judged by? "Please, though," she was continuing, and he closed his eyes, trying desperately to erect an emotional barrier between himself and her. "Please?"

And how does one go about suddenly being a friend? He asked himself. There was no answering voice this time, and he was at a loss. He'd never really had friends. There had been people he talked to, people he chose to spend time with, but never _friends_ really. And with very good reason. He still wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to give up that voluntary solitude now, either, and, if he was honest with himself, there was a voice that was protesting, the voice of his fifteen-year-old self whispering _Don't trust her, it's a trick, a prank, a ploy to get you to let your defenses down so she can make a fool of you._ It was considerably easier to never open the floodgates than to try and clean up all the water that spilled out.

She squeezed his hand again, and he squeezed back, then placed her hand on her stomach. "Do you need anything?" he asked, looking into her eyes. _Something for your headache, perhaps?_ Of course, it was folly of him to even be asking, he'd already heard two people asking her that same question, and she'd yet to tell anyone she needed anything. It seemed the proper thing to do, though.

"Er…" she bit her lip.

"Yes?" he prompted. "Some tea, with something for your headache?"

She gave him a confused look and shook her head. "No, my head'll do. But if you have the chance, there is a stack of papers I need to mark…"

He nodded. "Where are they?"

"On my desk. In my office."

Why didn't you mention this to Dumbledore or you precious Mickery? "Is there a password?"

He would have sworn that she flushed before putting her arm over her face again. "Mugglewamp," she muttered softly.

"Mugglewamp?" he repeated, fighting away the urge to laugh. "All right, Hannah…"

"Aislinn."

"Aislinn. I shall return shortly."


	10. Reflections

More than a little confused, and lost in speculation, Severus nearly passed the turn to Hannah's office, his feet carrying him automatically to the dungeons, to his own. _Bloody hell,_ he thought as he turned sharply to avoid having to backtrack, which would have been humiliating even if it was only the paintings that would have seen him, he stalked towards the classroom where he had first seen _Aislinn Ichalia._ She'd been sitting in the middle of a collapsed model of the solar system, looking stunned that the desk she had been standing on to hang the thing had toppled. "Never did have much sense," he murmured under his breath. He'd not had any intention of stopping at her classroom, after all she'd only requested he bring the scrolls she needed to mark and they were in her office, but for some reason, he did pause at the door of the classroom and gazed inside.

It couldn't have been more different from his own orderly classroom. Where he had neat rows of tables all facing the same direction, tables that had not been moved once in fourteen years unless it was for cleaning he didn't know about (and if he ever found out that they _had_ been moved, god help the person—or house elf—who moved them!), she had round tables in such an odd array that he couldn't help but think the students had arranged them themselves. Where he had neat cupboards that were always locked and always orderly, she had open shelves on the walls, some of them sagging with books, others scattered with an array of things he couldn't imagine the use of. Glancing over his shoulder, he stepped inside. "Lumos," he whispered, and the room illuminated.

The chalkboard looked as though it had never been truly erased; there were odd hashes and loops that were redolent of letters in the corners, and even in the middle, if he squinted, he could make out what had last been written there. Her desk was nearly indistinguishable under the parchment spread across it, and, when he neared it and looked over the pages, he shook his head. Notes, it seemed, ranging from pages labeled 'Jupiter' to a folder labeled 'Crystals'. Half-buried under a collection of torn pages was a list of her students, and he picked it up, then shook his head again. Attendance sheets. He scanned the dates and sighed more loudly. Attendance sheets from yesterday and the day before. A bit of rummaging produced the ones from today and Monday as well. He stacked them and set them on one of the tables, making a mental note to take them with him when he took his own (for today only, as Severus was apparently much more inclined to staying on top of such administrative duties).

He thumbed through another stack of pages, frowning at the symbols scrawled across them in varying degrees of skill. There was considerably less scrawling on these circles than there had been on the one Severus had found under his door, which didn't surprise him. What _did_ surprise him was when his hand landed on a thick scroll, and, upon unrolling it found the varying script of Hannah Carlisle. He closed his eyes, and suddenly had a flashback of a particularly brilliant essay on the properties of moonstone. It had been riddled with nonsense about energizing properties and idle speculation about the consequences of ingesting such a 'powerful stone', but that had seemed almost minor compared to the skill with which it had been composed overall. And, just like this scroll, the writing had been highly unpredictable, ranging from neat and even to a scrawl so awful he'd nearly handed the whole thing back to her to redo, legibly. As it happened, though, he'd found that her most brilliant points had been buried in the chicken-scratch, not in the neat letters. It had been as though her hand was racing to keep up with her mind, and losing the battle horribly.

Severus leaned against the desk and read the first few lines of scroll, a smile touching his lips when he came to the end of one line and saw a collection of little dots there. He'd seen such imperfections when she was a student as well, but hadn't realized what they were. The only reason he knew now was that he'd seen her beginning that interpretation of his. She tapped her quill on the page when she was thinking things through. A complex mind, that one, and a fertile one. He almost ached to peek into it again, as he had the first day of classes, but he'd resisted the urge to do so again. She'd never said a word about it, but he was certain she knew. She'd been choosing the memories he saw instead of the other way around, and that intrigued him.

The scroll, he realized, was substantially longer than the few pages of parchment he'd found under his door. He unrolled more of it, and skimmed, frowning suddenly as he realized that the beginning of it was largely the same as his had been, with general descriptions and speculations, but after three feet or so, all of which was in a neat hand, he found a new heading. _Sun at 12° Sagittarius,_ it read. He skimmed the next two feet of parchment, which, apparently, contained an in-depth analysis of the sun in Sagittarius, and the sun at 12° Sagittarius in particular. After a lengthy block, he came to another heading, which was _Moon at 18° Aries_. This was followed by a position for Mercury, then Venus, then Mars, and each of the rest of the planets, and a few things he'd never heard of. _Chiron?_ He found himself wondering, _Vesta? Ceres? Hidalgo?_ There was still considerably more of the scroll, though, and he looked farther down on it, finding notations for the Ascendant, Midheaven and something labeled 'GC', then each of the Houses. Then, to his surprise, there were still more sections with labels like 'Sun in Sagittarius in the Fifth oppose Jupiter in Gemini in the Eleventh.' Notation after notation, and, by the time he reached 'Venus/Pluto/Mars Grand Trine in Water, his head was swimming. These were not generalized notations, either. The one labeled 'Gemini Mercury in the Twelfth squared Virgo Neptune in the Third' had a notation in it about being prone to mumble as one read. Severus read that three times before he was convinced it said what it said. _Surely something like that can't be predicted from astrology,_ he thought incredulously.

He sank into the chair behind the desk, reading now instead of skimming, shaking his head at what was written. …a tendency towards exaggeration…an appreciation of art, but little ability…a predilection towards humanitarian pursuits, even from a young age…a predisposition towards organization…a propensity for losing track of time… Severus' head suddenly popped up. Losing track of time? _"Shit!"_ he muttered, forgoing his more characteristically picturesque curses for one that better fit his mood. He hastily re-rolled the scroll, picked up the attendance sheets and murmured "nox" as he left the room, the lights dimming behind him. Having spent so much time in the classroom, he hurried to Hannah's office and mumbled the password "Mugglewump" to a painting of Cassandra. The door to the office swung open, and Severus immediately tripped as he stepped into the darkness. "Lumos," he sighed, and the lights came on, making him scowl as he realized he'd tripped over a stack of books. And what were _those_ doing in the middle of the floor? He restacked them hastily, and stalked to her desk, picking up the parchments which, conveniently, were clipped together and sitting on top of the layers of papers strewn over the desk. He had an almost unbearable urge to tidy up before he left, but had already been gone long enough that he was going to have to come up with an explanation for his lengthy absence. Tucking the parchments under one arm, and then picking up a quill, a bottle of alcohol and several bottles of ink as an afterthought, he left the room, returning it to darkness as he headed to the dungeons, taking the stairs two at a time. He plucked his own attendance sheets from their neat pile on the corner of his desk, and headed back to the main level again, pausing only to deposit the sheets in the staff room.

When he reached her bedside again, something flickered over her face, but was gone before he could put his finger on it, replaced with a broad smile. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost," she said lightly, and he very nearly retorted that he _could_ have gotten lost in that office of hers. He refrained, though.

"I paused to take my attendance sheets," he said dismissively as he offered her the parchment and writing instruments. "I took yours too," he added, and she frowned.

"Oh, thank you. If they were in my office I'd never have remembered them," she commented, and he could have bitten his tongue into. _Just because it looks like the remnants of a hurricane to you doesn't mean she doesn't know where things are,_ he reminded himself, but said nothing.

"Did you need anything else?" he asked, already taking a step backward, but, to his horror—_are you really so put out with this, Severus?—_she extended a hand again, and he felt he had little choice but to take it.

"Thank you," she said softly, squeezing his hand.

Almost instinctively, he squeezed back. "Not at all," he brushed away her thanks. "Did you need anything else…?" He could see her seeming to battle with herself, and forced himself not to sigh. He did his best to look sympathetic, though he was thinking that if this was the way this 'friendship' business was going to proceed he wasn't sure if he wanted any part in it. "What is it?" he asked, trying his best to sound compliant.

She looked away, but still had his hand in hers, and he rather had the impression that she was _clinging_. "Don't go just yet?" she asked finally, turning her face back to him. There was a note of pleading in her voice, and in her expression.

He opened his mouth to protest; he had papers of his own to mark after all, but one look at her face was enough to sway him. He took out his wand and softly recited the incantation to conjure a chair, and seated himself. "Yes, Han—Aislinn?" he asked, "was there something else you wished to say?"

Once again, she seemed oddly torn, almost as though she were carefully considering her response. After a moment, she nodded slightly, more to herself than to him he thought, and took a deep breath, her face reddening slightly. That was the only clue as to what she was about to say, which meant that Severus was wholly unprepared for her sudden announcement. "I'm afraid," she confessed, and Severus instantly looked around for the source of her fear, expecting a boggart at the very least, but she was tugging on his hand slightly again. "Of hospitals. Sickrooms. Illness in general. I…" she trailed off, and his brows knit together as he tried to follow what she was saying and work out what he was supposed to do about it. "I just don't want to be alone," she admitted quietly.

He sat there for a moment, unsure what to do next. She was _afraid_ of _hospitals_? Severus had heard of people being afraid of a lot of different things, for a lot of different reasons, but never of hospitals. What could be dangerous about a hospital? He gave her hand a weak squeeze. "This is possibly the safest place in the world," he offered uncertainly, "there's no reason to…"

She pulled her hand away from his and draped her arm over her face again. _Why does she do that?_ He asked himself. _Because she's hiding from you,_ came the immediate reply. _But why? Does she fear me?_ He watched her carefully, but no, somehow he didn't think it was fear precisely. _Besides, if she feared you, why would she have asked you to stay?_ He didn't have a chance to answer that question, though, as she was speaking now. He had the impression that she was speaking to her arm rather than to him. "Haven't you ever just wanted not to be alone?" she asked quietly.

He was about to protest that of course he hadn't, but he paused.

"Severus, aren't you coming down? It's Christmas!"

Severus was lying on his back on the floor of the boys' dormitory in the Slytherin Tower, his wand in one hand, idly shooting sparks at flies and watching them as they dropped from their flights. "No," he replied through the door, and, for a moment he was afraid that that old bat McGonagall was going to open the door and come barging in, forcing him to join the scant festivities in the Great Hall. Severus was the only Slytherin who was staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, and, while no one had commented about it directly, he could still remember the words of one Lucious Malfoy his first year at Hogwarts. "The school retains boarders over the holidays, those who don't have families to go home to." The statement had been innocent enough, and Severus had snickered, like all the other First Years at the idea of not having a home to go to for the holidays. Something in the way Malfoy had said it, though, had spoken volumes more than the words alone had. Those who stayed behind over the holidays were somehow worth less than those who went home. Severus, who had been simply astounded by the older, handsome, poised and knowledgeable prefect, had taken that lesson to heart.

Now, four years later, it was his turn to be staying at Hogwarts while everyone with a home to go to had left for the holidays. **She** had deserted him, and Dumbledore had refused to allow him to go home now that **she** was gone.

"Come on, Severus, you're not going to stay up there all day, are you?"

He didn't answer, and, to his horror, his worst fear was realized. McGonagall **did** come right up to the dormitory and spared time only for a precursory knock before she opened the door. He didn't look at her, but could see her from the corner of his eye. "Severus Snape!" she said firmly, her hands on her hips, "get yourself up off that floor and come down for dinner!"

"I'm not hungry." He put his wand down, unsure what she would say or do if she realized he was using a Forbidden Spell on the flies. If she noticed all the tiny, bewinged corpses that littered the floor, she didn't say anything as she stepped over to him and knelt.

He winced as her hand touched his arm. "I know it doesn't seem much of a Christmas to you, Severus," she said, her voice suddenly softer than he'd ever thought it could be. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily, reflecting that her observation had to win some sort of award for understatement.

"Please," he said softly, blinking slightly more rapidly, determined not to start crying again. It was no wonder that nickname was beginning to take hold around Hogwarts. "Just leave me alone."

She was quiet for a moment, then she gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "I'll have a plate sent up for you," she said quietly, then stood and left. When he heard the door click shut, he quit fighting the tears and let them slide unchecked down his face. Of course she'd left; after all, hadn't he asked her to? It was unreasonable to expect her to stay there and offer to talk for a while.

An awful fear swept over him, and he wondered if he would ever have someone ever again. He didn't need to be popular, he didn't care if he didn't have friends, but at fourteen, he** did** need someone who cared for him. Just one person. **She** had always been that one person, but now that **she** was gone, there was no one to be an anchor for him. No one to be a known in a world full of uncertainties. He picked up his wand and found a fly again. "Avada Kedavra," he murmured, and another fly dropped soundlessly to the ground.

"Yes," he said softly, "I suppose I have." He moved his chair a little closer to her bed, arranging himself so she didn't have to crane her neck so to see him. _You certainly picked a bad person to keep you company,_ he thought dryly as the seconds ticked by quietly. The silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable, and he found that he had very few places that he could put his eyes without looking as though he were scrutinizing her breasts, which rose and fell temptingly under her dressing gown. The silence stretched on, and he cast about wildly for something to say, but could think of nothing. Well, he thought of plenty, just nothing he could say. _Why did you ask me to stay, though?_ He questioned her silently. _Why not Mickery or Dumbledore? Why didn't you ask me to send up Minerva, or even that lunatic Sybill? Any of them would have been better choices than he was. Was it a random choice?_ He thought for a long moment about that, but at length came to the conclusion that Hannah was not, by and large, a random person. Headstrong, yes, and impulsive certainly, but he'd yet to find anything she did without a _reason_ behind it. An interesting conversation that would be, actually. _Interesting if it was about anyone except me._ Still, the question was intriguing.

Finally, after several excruciatingly silent moments, he cleared his throat softly. "May I ask why you are afraid…" he trailed off, feeling foolish. Of course she wouldn't want to talk about her fears. He certainly wouldn't.

She shrugged slightly. "I was in and out of them for most of my life," she replied conversationally, and it took him a moment to realize that she _was_ indeed answering his question. "My first memory is waking up in St. Mungo's, and not being able to find my mum and dad. And then it seemed I was always being bundled off to one in the middle of the night, and…" she trailed off and shrugged again. "They never told me what they were doing, or why I was there. It was just a place where I had to be quiet and still," she winked at him, which shocked him. "And you know how difficult I find it to be quiet and still."

His lips quirked up slightly at the corners, but that was as close to a smile as Severus could manage. It simply wasn't part of his repertoire. "How old were you?" he asked.

Hannah's smile was much broader, and her laughter was genuine. "Possibly five," she said, "maybe six. Young enough to be prone to the wiggles to begin with, without the help of my own personality." She flexed her foot and grimaced softly. "I've gotten better about being still and quiet, but I still don't like it. So I suppose you can imagine what it was like when I was so young."

"And you don't know why you had to endure such torture?" He'd meant it to be sarcastic, but it didn't come out quite that way. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it probably _was_ torture to make _any_ five year old child sit still and quiet.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Of course I do, now, but I didn't at the time. Or rather, I knew but I didn't understand it."

Intrigued, he couldn't help but want to know more. "If I may ask…"

Her smile was still on her face, but it didn't quite touch her eyes. "I had cancer, Severus. I was diagnosed with it in a Muggle hospital when I was four years old." She grew oddly quiet, and he didn't know how to fill the space, so there was simply a long pause. "Muggle treatments are harsh," she said softly, her smile having now faded entirely. She wasn't looking at him. "Harsh enough that I remember even now, and that was very nearly twenty years ago." She pulled her hand away from his, and took a sudden interest in her fingernails, which he noted with some detachment were a very different color from her toenails. "They stick needles in you," she said softly, "and fill your body with powerful poisons, and then try to keep you alive while the poisons kill the cancer." She lifted a hand to her hair and twirled a lock around a fingertip, and he wondered if she was even entirely aware she was still in the room.

"Is that why you won't let me make you a potion for your headaches?" he asked softly.

She looked at him so suddenly, and laughed, genuinely, making him think that he'd not been far off target in thinking she'd forgotten he was there. "No, Severus, I don't want your potions because I refuse to give into a headache. I have enough things to contend with without admitting that my head hurts so badly I want to rip it off at times. I can't control what hurts and what doesn't," she said, her voice growing serious, "but I can control how I react to it. And I have chosen to ignore those headaches."

Severus nodded, still a bit mystified, but understanding on some level. Control over one's life was a precious thing. His eyes slid over her, and it was he who reached for her hand this time. Cancer. That was something he'd never known, certainly.

She yawned, and he smiled a bit at that. "Shall I leave you to sleep?" he asked, and she looked torn once again, but this time she nodded.

"I've taken enough of your time for one day, haven't I?" she chided gently, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she was smiling. Joking, perhaps? Perhaps not.

"I," he faltered, and mentally cursed her for putting him in that position. He was not precisely known for saying the right thing, after all. "I only thought you might be tired. If you want, I'll stay a little longer." _Fool, why would she want you to stay? You actually gave her the perfect opening, and she took it, but like a frightened child you had to ask her to re-evaluate and…_

"If I'm not keeping you from anything," she said softly, "I'd appreciate it if you stayed."

He squeezed her hand again, and said nothing. This time, though, the silence was no uncomfortable.


	11. Distractions

"You know, I have not been able to put you from my mind, Severus," she said softly, her fingertips caressing his face. "It's like you're a part of me now, like I've found something that I was missing and didn't even realize was gone. You make me whole."

He smiled and turned his head into her hand, gently kissing her palm. He'd never felt so warm and content as he did now, with her nestled into his arms, her head on his shoulder, that magnificent hair spreading like a fan across the pillow they shared. He ran his fingers through her hair, smiling as the coils of ebony wound themselves around his fingertips, ensnaring his hand as surely as she had ensnared his heart.

He shifted slightly, and pulled her tighter against him, his breath ruffling her hair as his body responded to her presense. "I'm glad I found you," he whispered into her ear, "I'll never let go…"

"Severus?"

He glanced around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was no one there. Good. He turned back to her, smiling again as she wrapped her arms around him, twining her fingers into his hair and pulling his head down so she could kiss his lips. He snaked his arms around her waist, swaying gently, dancing with her to a sourceless music.

Dancing? I thought we were in bed…

"Severus."

He shook his head to dislodge the detached thoughts and voices that were threatening his peace of mind. The world was perfect just now, and he didn't want to think about anything else. 'If this is a dream,' he whispered into the hair of the woman sleeping in his arms, 'I don't want to wake up.'

"Severus Snape!"

His eyes popped open, and for a moment he was disoriented, looking around. This wasn't his room, and… he shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure why he felt so stiff. He was in a chair, not a bed. He blinked, and looked up at the source of the voice. Who--?

Dumbledore. Severus put his head back down on the mattress, willing the headmaster to go away. He was busy dreaming about… His head popped up again, and he stood so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair. Eyes wide open now, he backed away from the bed where Hannah still lay sleeping. "It's not what you think, Headmaster," he began hastily, trying to shove his thuoghts into place and separate memories from dreams. "We were just…"

Dumbledore lifted a hand, and held a finger to his lips. "Come over here so we don't wake her," the older wizard whispered, and Severus cast a glance at the sleeping form, her head turned to the side to reveal a tantalizing expanse of neck.

Severus shoved a hand through his hair and followed Dumbledore across the room. "Really," he was insisting in a desperate whisper before they even reached the end of her bed, "there was nothing untoward…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "My dear boy," he said softly, his eyes twinkling even in the scant moonlight of the hospital wing. Moonlight? What time was it, anway? "What you were doing was your business," the Headmaster was saying. "You are an adult, as is Miss Ichalia, and if the two of you _did_ decide to do something 'untoward' as you put it, it would not be my business to interfere. However," he smiled, his eyes twinkling even brighter, "I do not believe for a moment that either of you would even consider such a thing here, where a student might wander in at any time. No, Severus, I trust your judgement more than that." Dumbledore reached out and patted Severus' arm. "I simply wondered if you knew you had fallen asleep there?"

Severus was glad for the darkness, as it hid the worst of his furious blushing. "No, Headmaster," he replied quietly, glancing over at Hannah again, "I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. We were talking, and I guess…" _I must have dozed off,_ he thought, frowning. _I hope I didn't offend her…_

Dumbledore was nodding. "Why don't you go get some real sleep, Severus? That chair can't be all that comfortable."

Looking back at the headmaster, Severus shrugged a bit. "I don't… She didn't want to be alone," he said quietly, feeling oddly as though he were betraying her, despite how openly she had admitted her fear.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Very well, then, she shan't be. I'll stay with her, though I must insist that you go find your bed, Severus. It's after one, and you look as though you could use a bit of real sleep. Don't worry, if she wakes I'll tell her I ordered you to go."

Severus considered protesting, but decided against it. He'd never once refused a direct command from Dumbledore, and he wasn't about to start now over something so trite. "Good night, then," he said softly, sparing one last glance for the sleeping woman before setting off towards his chambers, his thoughts drifting back to the dream he'd been having before Dumbledore woke him.

I wonder if it means anything, he speculated, but only briefly. Disgusting suggestion, that such a vulgar dream could actually have a meaning. Even Sybill Trelawney would probably tell him, in a misty and faraway voice, that the dream's meaning was perfectly clear. _It means you are a lonely and frustrated man with far too tenuous a grasp on reality,_ he told himself firmly, and it was that thought which carried him to his chambers.

He hadn't intended to take the time to undress before crawling into his bed, but the walk had been somewhat invigorating, and by the time he reached his rooms, he was awake enough to feel he'd sleep better if he didn't try to do it in his robes. Besides, if he slept in them, he'd have to change them before classes tomorrow anyway, as they'd be far too rumpled to pass for anything approaching appropriate. He barely let the door click shut before he was peeling out of them, laying them neatly over a chair and snatching his nightshirt from beneath his pillow. He shook out the grey flannel and pulled it over his head, smoothing it down, and wincing slightly as his hands hit an unexpected firmness.

And how did you fail to notice **that**, Severus Snape? He grimaced in the dark and turned back the bed covers, trying to put Hannah from his mind. Trying with little success.

What does it matter if I think of her? he found himself asking. It was a good question. What did it matter? _It doesn't matter if you think of her, but you are a grown man, not some rutting teenager, so do keep your thoughts a little more pure._ That was not a question he'd really wanted an answer to, but there was a facet of his mind that did not differentiate between true questions and rhetorical ones. And another facet of his mind that could never let well enough alone. _You live a life of solitude and abstinence,_ it said with infuriatingly rational calm, _there is no harm in enjoying in your dreams what you have never enjoyed in your waking hours._

Bloody hell. Even his own mind was plotting against him tonight. _Shut up,_ he thought sourly, aiming the command at whichever parts of his mind might be considering joining that little debate. _Just let me go to sleep. I have a class tomorrow…_ There was something to the various sources of the arguments that was akin to a class snickering while the teacher's back was turned, but he ignored it with as much dignity as he could, given that it was his own thoughts trying to sabotage him. One voice, though, surprisingly logical and unjudgemental, dared to express itself, though. _You might well appreciate the foresight if you put a towl on the bed before you go to sleep,_ it suggested. Severus muttered something aloud, something incomprehensible as he settled into his pillows. A stiffening, though, convinced him that there was logic to that thought, and, the next morning, Severus was quite glad he'd dragged himself back out of bed and retrieved a towel, and folded it twice over the sheet before he finally settled down to sleep.

The persistent buzzing of his alarm awoke Severus the next morning, and as he pulled himself out of bed, he couldn't help but note that that was the most restful night he'd spent in years. He was aware that he'd been dreaming, though he couldn't remember a scene of any of it since he'd come to bed, which was likely just as well. Stretching, he glanced at the clock before heading off for a bath, and muttered a vehement curse at the time that he saw. He'd overselpt by close to an hour!

Deciding that the bath was expendable, he snatched up a clean change of clothes, dragged a comb through his hair, brushed his teet quickly and was stalking towards the dungeons within moments of waking, not even bothering to make his bed first. He made a quick inventory of his lesson plans and the materials he'd need for them, and then was off into his supply closet, his bright mood from earlier already turning foul. As he busied himself stocking the cabinets for the day's lessons, he found his mind wandering, slipping to Hannah yet again. _You're fooling yourself, old man, thinking that she cares for you, _he told himself firmly. He didn't listen. He was far too engrossed in his (rather boyish) fantasies and the stocking of his cupboards, and he didn't even notice when the doors to the dungeon classroom opened.

"Severus?" asked a familiar voice, and the sudden presense of another surprised him so that he banged his head on the cupboard door and stifled a curse as he backed out to see who the invader was.

"Minerva," he said stiffly, lifting a hand to his head and wincing slightly.

She tsked and swept over to him, "Let me see," she ordered, moving his hand aside, and he submitted to her brief, cursory examination. "Just a bump," she pronounced, and he jerked away from her. _I knew that,_ he thought sourly, but the other professor didn't seem to notice his grumpiness. Taking a step away from him, McGonagall reached into her pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, casually wiping her hands on it. That casual act caught his eye, though, and for the second time in as many days, he was transported back to his own years as a student at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Snape?"

Severus looked up from his writing into the firm, yet kind face of Professor McGonagall. She was leaning close to him, a hand on his back. "Yes, Professor?" he asked softly, wondering what she might want. Some students might have been nervous to have her address them, but Severus was a stellar student, and he rested easily knowing that he'd done nothing that should invoke her displeasure.

"Stay after class, please. I'd like a word with you."

He nodded, confused but amicable. Even having been asked to remain after class, he was reasonably confident that there was nothing she would be scolding him for, but just in case he went through the class again, trying to find any point she might be calling him to task over. He'd handed in his homework, which was properly completed, and if it wasn't up to par he had no pangs of guilt that it was from lack of effort on his part. He had not been the most gifted during today's lesson, but neither was he the worst at it; his matchbox, at least, had no legs like so many of the other students' did. He'd not been talking during class, which was more than he could say for his Gryffindor classmates—that foursome had become almost inseparable in their first month at Hogwarts, and in any given class, they were likely to be found whispering; Severus, however, had no real friends, so that was not a problem with him. No, he could think of no reason she would be assigning him a detention (and she would have likely announced it to the entire class anyway, had she been going to; Professor McGonagall was not particularly sympathetic to the feelings of her students when they were breaking rules), so he put it out of his mind until the bell rang.

Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sounds of books and parchment being gathered was punctuated with the laughter and chatter from three dozen students who had been deprived of communication for the duration of a double period of Transfiguration. Severus gathered his books and parchment as well, but he took his time, and the only person who seemed to notice that he was staying behind was, of couse, Sirius Black. Severus hated him already. Him and that git, James Potter.

"Someone's in trouble!" Sirius sang, his voice carrying a note of triumph.

James paused and joined Sirius, his messy hair tumbling as he laughed. "What'd you do this time, slimeball? Leave grease smears on the doorknobs again?"

"Come on, you guys, we're going to be late." Remus Lupin looked half-starved again, but he was the only one of the four who had half a lick of sense as far as Severus was concerned. In fact, Severus thought he could almost like Remus if it weren't for the company he kept.

When the class had cleared out, Professor McGonagall shut the door firmly and returned to her desk, beckoning Severus to come closer.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Severus was already developing the soft speech patterns for which he would someday be infamous, but that was still a quarter-century into the future.

"Severus, I had hoped it would not come to this, but I'm afraid I must bring it up. Have you had a bath today?"

Severus blushed hard, and developed a very sudden interest in the floor beneath his shoes. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, trying desperately to wish himself away from the Professor's gaze.

McGonagall sighed softly. "I was afraid of that. Well, Mr. Snape, your… efforts in that respect are not satisfactory. I have complaints every day from those who sit near you, and today I was rather forced to agree with them. One of this school's requirements is that you come to class well-groomed, and that includes properly bathed. Now, I want you to go back up to the Slytherin Tower and bathe again, properly this time, and then report to me. What is your next class?"

Severus had closed his eyes and was trying hard not to cry out of humiliation, knowing that if he did, it would only make the situation that much worse. "History," his voice was barely a whisper now, "with Professor Binns."

McGonagall made a note and nodded briskly. "I will tell Professor Binns that you will not be coming to class today," she told him, "and after you have bathed, you come find me, and if I find your condition acceptable, I will write you a pass to the library."

"Yes, Professor," he whispered again, still staring at the floor.

"And Mr. Snape, there will be a detention the next time you come to class unbathed, and I will be taking points away from Slytherin. You don't wish to explain that to your House, do you?"

Eyes wide open now, and affixed to McGonagall in horror, Severus shook his head. "No, Professor," he whispered.

"Very well, then. Off with you."

"…take one of her classes today. She has the lesson already planned, and it should be easy enough. Severus, are you listening to me?"

Severus blinked and looked at McGonagall, who had put away the handkerchief and was holding out a folder to him. "Yes," he lied, thinking quickly about the part he had actually heard. Taking someone's class. He opened the folder and saw Hannah's handwriting. "I'm taking Hannah's second class today," he said, closing the folder and laying it aside. "The lesson is already planned and in that folder."

The look Minerva gave him made him feel eleven years old again; she'd not believed such rot back then, either. "Very well," she said, and turned to leave, then paused. "Severus," she asked, "do you feel well? You look more…" she trailed off, as though looking for a word.

More filthy? He supplied mentally. _More greasy? Slimey? Uglier, more morose, bereft of life and hope and happiness? Good of you to notice, my dear, you see, it's that woman whose class you were just discussing with me. She has my insides all knotted up, and that's not to mention what she's doing to certain appendages, but that's neither here nor there. Tell me, Minerva, do you think she feels something for me besides pity? I can't seem to reach a conclusion, and I've been batting that question around all night, which likely accounts for part of my appearance. _"I'm fine," he said aloud, and she nodded. That, at least, _had_ changed. There was a time when she would have demanded to know what had him so distracted, but somewhere along the way she had decided he was a man, a grown man at that, and had the right to be miserable if he wished it.


	12. The unexpected

Classes passed in a blur of confusion for Severus, who for once had a hard time keeping his mind anywhere useful. He stalked about the dungeons looking as forbidding as usual, but today it was an impotent intimidation, and twice he failed to notice that his students were reading notes for other classes while they stirred their potions. The class he'd picked up for Hannah had gone smoothly, despite the fact that he'd forgotten to even look over the notes for it until he was actually standing there waiting for the students to all arrive. It was easy enough, though; she'd apparently taken pity on her substitutes and given them an essay to assign the students and class time to work on it. Therefore, there had been nearly two hours between his announcing that they needed to work on an essay detailing the influences of Pluto transiting the fifth house and the bell that heralded the end of the class period, and he'd put that time to good use, thinking about Hannah, every thought morphing her into an even more beautiful and brilliant young woman.

When the day was over, Severus intended to go immediately to visit Hannah, but, upon catching sight of his reflection in a darkened window, thought better of the intention and veered towards his chambers, instead. He planned on a bath, and nothing more, but again his intentions were waylaid, and soon he found himself doing the tidying he had not done that morning, starting with making his bed and ending with straightening his shelf of books. By the time he got around to actually sinking into the bath he'd drawn, the water was already cold, and rather than reheating it, he'd bathed hurriedly, not spending as much time as he'd intended but at least lathering up and dunking his head under the water. It was dinner time when he emerged from his rooms, dressed warmly and still shivering slightly from the icy bath he'd subjected himself to.

By the time he made it to the hospital wing, it was late, and the sounds of dinner were drifting up through the castle, carrying with them the tempting scent of food. Severus' stomach growled, reminding him that he'd not eaten yet today, and he ended up veering away from the hospital wing one more time, this time to eat a quick dinner before returning to Hannah's side. As he seated himself at the teachers' table, Severus' mind churned around what he was planning to say to her. And there was a great deal he was planning to say. He'd been thinking about her most of the day, and about the things she'd said to him, the fears she'd shared. He knew, for the first time in his life, that he was capable of love, and he couldn't wait to share that revelation with the woman responsible for it.

As soon as he finished his dinner, Severus made his excuses and cut a swift path to the hospital wing, which he entered confidently. His robes billowed behind him as he headed for Hannah's bed, and his face was actually graced with a genuine smile for once. He stopped short just before reaching her, though, and felt his breath catch.

She was somehow even more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, which was seemingly absurd given the circumstances. She was propped up with several pillows at her back, her foot elevated on even more pillows, the leg of her satin pajamas revealing her ankle, which was not as swollen as it had been last night. Her foot, delicately arched, just begged to be massaged, and the barest hint of a shapely calf protruding from the amethyst satin was enough to make his blood boil. It was not the way the silky fabric clung to her that made his mouth go dry, though. It was her hair. He would have never believed that her hair could twist his entrails into such a knot, particularly not when she'd likely not spent more than five irritated seconds with it, but there was something so casually seductive about it that made his knees go weak. No longer spread about her shoulders like a fan of ebony, she'd wound it into a messy twist, securing it with a pencil, one lock of it barely looped onto the make-shift clip. On top of her head sat a pair of glasses, seeming to hold the entire sculpture in place. She was so absorbed in whatever it was that she was writing that she didn't appear to notice his arrival. He cleared his throat softly as he stepped forward.

Hannah's eyes darted up to this face, and a smile blossomed across her features. "Severus!" she called, waving for him to come over, which he did without hesitation.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, picking up her hand. She squeezed his hand lightly.

"Much better," she replied. "My ankle stopped hurting this morning, and I think the swelling has gone down some."

He cast a look at her ankle again and thought that she was almost as much of a master of understatement as McGonagall was, but he didn't tell her that. Instead, he sat, on the edge of her bed this time, and smiled what was, for him at least, a very broad and bright smile. "Good," he said, though his mind was screaming at him to say something a bit more enrapturing than merely 'good'. At least, the parts of his mind not cursing him for letting her get too close. All those facets of his brain were infuriatingly silent, though, as he tried to think of something to say.

"I br… er. No, I guess I didn't." _Good start, Severus. Bravo._ He'd intended to bring the papers he needed to mark, so he'd have an excuse to sit there with her for the evening without feeling guilty about neglecting his work, but he realized that his hands were empty. And with that realization came an even more disturbing one—he didn't know where he'd put those papers. _Good one, you dunderhead. Losing students' essays._ He had more important things to worry about just now, though. Such as what he was going to say to recover from his blunder since Hannah was looking oddly at him now.

"Pardon me?" she asked, sounding confused.

Cursing silently, Severus thought quickly. "I…" he failed to think of anything reasonable to say, and looked away from her. "Nothing," he substituted lamely. For one dreadful moment, he thought she was going to pursue the topic, but she appeared to change her mind about it.

"How was your day?" she asked, and he, so glad for a change in topic, launched into a detailed account of how Diane Drandry had used achonite instead of alchenite in a potion and created a smoke so corrosive that it had nearly melted her cauldron.

Hannah laughed at the appropriate places and tsked softly, shaking her head in agreement of his assessment of Miss Drandy's lack of sense, but as he wound his recount to a close, he had the distinct impression that she was only half-listening to him. It was rather like it had been when she was a student. That had been a frustrating ability of hers, to half-listen so that when he asked her to repeat something she almost always could, despite the fact that he _knew_ she was letting her mind wander. Bloody difficult to prove it, though. "…I think she must sit up at nights thinking about ways to infuriate me." With that observation, he finished his tale and, to his annoyance, noted that Hannah seemed to be fighting away a smile. "Not unlike another student I had once before," he muttered, conjuring a chair and moving to it, suddenly irritated with her.

"Oh?" she asked brightly, her eyes sparkling. No headache today, it seemed. "Do tell," she said with a hint of laughter lacing her voice."

Severus narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly undecided if he found her amusing or irritating. "She was one of my first students," he said blandly, "and she had the most unruly mop of hair I'd ever seen, and never could remember to wear a ribbon or anything in it to keep it out of her cauldron."

Hannah laughed, leaning her head back onto her pillows. "I'm sure she didn't wear her hair up for the rest of her classes and drop the ribbon into her pocket before entering the dungeons just because she knew it would irritate you."

He felt his lips tightening into a grimace. Bloody hell. "If she did, then she was most irresponsible," he commented dryly.

"Most people are at that age," she said dismissively.

"Some more than others." He was growing increasingly annoyed with her, an odd departure from only an hour earlier.

"Well, some have a more rebellious streak than others, don't they?"

"Quite." He let go of her hand and settled against the back of his chair, wondering why he didn't just stand up and leave. "This particular student was certainly unpredictable to say the least."

Hannah's smile had faded somewhat. "Is that so?" she asked innocently. "Anyone I know?"

Severus folded his arm. "Well, from what I hear, she changed her name, though your guess is as good as mine as to why." He watched her intently for a moment, hoping for a reaction of some sort, something that would indicate to him the answer to the question he didn't really want to ask outright.

"Well," she said, her eyes starting to twinkle merrily, "if you want to know, perhaps you would do well to ask her. I mean, I can't speak for everyone, but personally, I have a tendency to answer those questions directed to me."

He scowled. As if it wasn't bloody obvious who he was talking about. "Very well, Miss _Ichalia_, enlighten me. What under the heavens possessed you to change your name?"

She smiled an infuriating smile. "Simple, Severus. I didn't like being Hannah Carlisle. I always felt as though I were trapped in that name, and I found that Aislinn suited my personality much better than Hannah ever did, so I decided to make that change. After all, why should I spend the rest of my life trapped in a name that didn't suit me? It's such a pity that names are given to infants before the baby has a chance to display his or her unique personality. How often are these names not suitable to child? Hrm? It was the most liberating experience I have ever had, making that change, and one I would recommend to everyone."

Severus just stared at her. _Liberating_? She changed her name because it didn't _suit_ her? She thought it a pity that names were given to _infants_? What would she have, a bunch of children whose names were 'hey you'? Where did she pick up these ridiculous ideas? _And more to the point, where did you come up with the ridiculous idea that this nutter was attractive?_ It wasn't one of his normal voices that sounded so disbelieving this time; the ones that normally had so much to say were apparently stunned into silence. Changing her name was _liberating_? He opened his mouth with the intention of telling her precisely how ridiculous he thought her logic was, but all that came out was a weak "I see."

Three hours later, Severus was headed back to his own chambers, shaking his head slightly. Who was that woman in the hospital wing? She certainly wasn't the same woman who'd held his heart and mind captive all day yesterday, was she?

October 31

Aislinn couldn't help but wonder what had suddenly come over Severus. She'd been glad for his presence the first night she was in the hospital wing, and she'd enjoyed their conversation, but she hadn't noticed when he'd left, and she hadn't particularly missed him. She'd kept herself busy all day Friday while she was alone, marking those papers that she'd asked him to bring her, and ignoring the tray of food that sat on the table at her side. She'd had visits from just about everyone on the staff, and two visits from Jordan Mickery which had both left her almost glad she was bed-ridden, as otherwise she would have been hard-pressed to keep her knees from giving out. Severus had visited her that evening, and had started their visit by taking her hand, which had surprised her beyond measure. She'd accepted it, though, and given his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping she was encouraging him; it broke her heart to think that was likely the most contact he'd had with another human in… years.

And is that true, Aislinn? She asked herself, _Or do you just enjoy pitying him?_ And he was a pitiable figure, that much was entirely certain. There was something about him that just screamed that he needed a hug, but even had she been in a more conducive position to give it to him, she wasn't sure she would have attempted it. She had a feeling he was frightened of her, though there was nothing she could specifically point to as proof of that assessment; it was just an impression she had, and she'd learned long ago to trust her first impressions about these things.

Whatever odd things Severus was doing, though, she had something far more pressing (and admittedly more enjoyable) to occupy her mind. This afternoon, she was supposed to leave the hospital wing and be free to attend the Halloween Feast this evening. Of course, Madame Pomfrey had all but forbidden her to dance or to wear those shoes again, but Aislinn was almost as good at developing temporary deafness as Dumbledore was and had gleefully not heard a word of that. She was as giddy as a school-girl; and as she waited for Poppy to come and give her foot a final look, she thought she might very well just die of ill-concealed anticipation.

"Miss Ichalia?"

Aislinn's head swerved, and a bright smile covered her face. "Amity, Elizabeth, come in! Come in!" She waved a pair of students over, a pair of Hufflepuffs who both smiled broadly at being invited in and came forward as one.

"Is you foot better?" Amity asked, and Aislinn grinned.

"Much, thank you!" she replied. "How are the two of you faring?" She patted the edge of her bed, and both of them sat, looking far too forlorn for fifth-year students on the afternoon of the first school dance of the year.

"Dreadful!" Elizabeth responded, and Aislinn put a sympathetic look on her face.

"What happened?" she asked, though she had her suspicions that she knew what was wrong, and they were proven correct as the two girls started talking at the same time. Disjointed as the explanation might have been, and difficult as it was to keep up with who was saying what, it didn't take much for Aislinn to pick out the gist of what they were saying. Both had been waiting for particular boys to invite them to the dance and so far those invites had not materialized, and the two girls were now, four hours from the start of the dance, dateless.

And they'd certainly chosen the most sympathetic of their teachers to come to, of that there could be no doubt. Aislinn gave both an encouraging smile. "There, now," she said soothingly, "do you know what probably happened?"

Both girls shook their heads, Amity's blond curls bouncing and Elizabeth's silky brown curtain swaying.

"They were probably afraid. Boys can be horribly afraid sometimes."

Amity giggled, but Elizabeth looked as serious as ever. "Oh, but Miss Ichalia, not Bradley and Richard," she protested. "They're both very brave. They're _Gryffindors_."

Aislinn wasn't quite sure what to do with that sudden heart-felt pronouncement, and was glad to be saved from facing it alone as the door to the hospital wing suddenly opened and the bat-like figure of Severus Snape entered the wing. He stopped short when he saw that she had company already, but Aislinn, glad for any diversion, waved him over. He edged towards her, looking slightly askance at the two students sitting beside her. "That hardly matters, Elizabeth," Aislinn was saying, patting the girl's hand. "The man who would face demons and dragons often quakes at the idea of asking a girl to dance," she said, hoping her tone made it sound like she knew what she was talking about. "If he hasn't asked you to the dance, perhaps you should ask him? After all, I daresay most young men would appreciate the pressure being taken off them. Am I right, Professor Snape?"

The two girls gasped and scrambled to their feet, spinning fearfully to look at the dreaded potions master. Aislinn turned a beseeching look to him too, _Just agree with me,_ she pleaded silently. His eyes met hers, and then he looked at the two students, then back at her again, as though trying to decide what to say. _He really does have all the social grace of a slug,_ Aislinn thought as he spent precious seconds considering. Every delay would make his answer that much less believable if he _did_ have the presence of mind to agree with her, and she raised her eyebrows, shooting him a look that plainly prompted him to speak.

He did, finally, and to Aislinn's great relief, he agreed with her, though with no more enthusiasm than he said anything else. "Quite," he replied, and for a moment she thought that was all he was going to say on the matter. He ended up adding a few more words to the assessment, though. "Sometimes," he said, glancing at the two girls, "a man needs a bit of a shove in the right direction." The last of that, Aislinn was sure, had been directed at her, but for the life of her she couldn't imagine what he was on about.

Elizabeth and Amity, however, were so dumbstruck that Professor Snape had spoken to them without giving them detentions that they were just staring, much to Aislinn's amusement. Severus also seemed a little stunned, and quite a lot like he wished he hadn't opened his mouth.

"You really don't think they'll mind if we ask them to dance?" It was Amity who spoke, her voice barely a squeak under the assault of Severus' gaze, and Aislinn had to fight hard not to laugh at the expression that flickered across his face as he suddenly seemed to realize what they were talking about. The look he gave her would have frozen lava, but Aislinn had only the urge to bury her face in her pillow and laugh until she couldn't breathe anymore. Who would have ever pinned Severus Snape to be giving his students advice about the opposite sex?

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asked finally, seeming to resign himself to his fate. It had something of the sound of a rhetorical question, but the weighty silence made it obvious that expected an answer. Even when offering advice, (and Aislinn was quite interested in hearing the eventual outcome of this) Severus sounded like a teacher.

"He could say no," Elizabeth offered, sounding as though that possibility held just slightly less appeal than death. Aislinn smiled sympathetically, and thought idly, _I wouldn't be a teenager again for all the gold in Gringotts._

"Indeed." Severus had folded his arms and was walking a slow circle around the pair of them, looking very much like a vulture, even to Aislinn who was not the target for once. "And what will happen if you do not?" he asked, turning his gaze to Amity, who looked like she wanted to melt into oblivion. _Can't you be a little less daunting for once,_ Aislinn thought desperately, but to no effect.

"He, erm, they," she shot a hopeful smile at Elizabeth, "might ask us?" The two friends had managed to maneuver themselves to the opposite side of the bed from Severus, and both looked grateful for the barrier.

Severus unfolded his arms suddenly and leaned forward suddenly, bracing his hands on the mattress. _Oh, please don't put me in the middle of this, _Aislinn thought desperately, trying to wriggle herself away but finding herself unable to do so without kicking the potions master away from her bed. "Don't be foolish," he whispered, in a characteristically Snape-ish hiss. "If they were going to ask you, do you not think they would have by now? Let's try again."

Amity looked like she was going to cry, and Aislinn sighed inwardly. _You and I need to have a little talk, Severus, _she thought firmly. "I-I guess that… nothing… will happen," Amity was saying miserably.

"Precisely," Severus said, straightening. "Therefore, what conclusion can you gather?" Elizabeth was looking at the floor, as was Amity, and Aislinn thought _both _now looked like they were trying not to cry. "Well?" Neither said anything, and Aislinn's heart ached for the two girls. "What will happen if they say no?"

Amity swallowed. "We won't have dates," she said quietly.

"And what happens if you don't ask?"

"We don't have dates," she repeated mournfully. Elizabeth, however, was looking up at Severus now, as though considering, her face a mirror of the sudden understanding Aislinn felt.

"So, what is the conclusion?"

"We have nothing to lose," Elizabeth replied, her voice sounding more firm than Amity's had. "But everything to gain."

Amity suddenly looked up at Severus, her eyes now wide as well, as though catching on.

Severus' lips tightened into that expression that passed for a smile on his face. "Quite," he whispered. "Now, I believe you two have a task in front of you?"

"Yes Professor Snape!" Their voices were in such perfect synchronization that Aislinn couldn't tell one from the other, and the two _ran_ out of the hospital wing, leaving Aislinn staring after them for a moment, and then suddenly bursting into laughter.

"Who would have ever thought that the stern and pitiless Professor Snape would have such sound advice for his students?" she asked through her guffaws, leaning back against the pillows.

"Wha-" he began, but was interrupted by another voice.

"Out." Aislinn opened her eyes, still watering from laughter, and smiled broadly at Poppy. "Go on, Severus. I'm a busy woman and I haven't all day while you amuse my patients. You can talk with Miss Ichalia later. Out." Severus scowled at Poppy, then shrugged at Aislinn, and did as he was told.


	13. The dance

Upon being shooed so unceremoniously from the hospital wing, Severus found himself standing outside the doors, wondering what had possessed him to give those students such advice as he had. _Since when are you qualified to advise sixteen-year-old girls on the finer points of teenage love?_ He calmly ignored the scorn inherent in that voice, and stalked off to his rooms. His mood, however, was not quite as sour as it had been for most of the morning. He was certain that the conversation he'd just had was no coincidence; Hannah had been speaking to him, in the guise of advising those two girls, and the message had been crystal clear to him: if he felt something for her, he should merely state it. After all, as he had guided that pair of girls to realize, there was nothing to lose, and, as the one had so eloquently put it, everything to gain.

What about the fact that she is a good candidate for St. Mungo's mental ward? asked a skeptical voice in his head. _Be reasonable, Severus. She thought she was trapped in her **name** for the love of Merlin's beard! She has all the sense of a moldy rock. She laughs at you constantly, and is about six inches too tall to be entirely comfortable, and if all that isn't enough, she's never given you the slightest scrap of a hint that she cares about you in the least. The last two days, she has been manipulating you, because, as she admitted herself, she is afraid of the hospital ward and didn't want to be alone. You've been playing right into her hands for long enough, but you can stop that now and still come out unscathed._

He let himself into his rooms, his mind still swimming. Logically, he knew that voice had a good many points, even if they were laced with cynicism and dripping in bitterness. Why should he believe she cared, when she'd never done or said one blasted thing to lead him to believe that? And, why should _he_ care anyway, one way or another? She was everything he despised, and always had been. She was a Gryffindor. _She could have been a Ravenclaw. _She was a mischief maker. _She pulled some very clever and amusing pranks._ And clever doesn't make them any more appropriate, does it? _She has a brilliant mind._ And she wastes it on rubbish. _She's eccentric._ Which is just a polite way of saying she's completely off her rocker. _She has a strong presence._ Of course she does! The woman is a bloody Amazon. _She holds a room captive with her wit. _Captive is right, you can't possibly escape such a scatterbrained chatterbox. _She certainly nailed you in one try, didn't she?_ There was no answer to that accusation, and, with an irritated grunt, Severus jerked the handles of his bathtub, hoping scalding water would force thoughts of her from his mind.

While the water was running, he banged open the doors of his wardrobe and stared for a moment at the contents. He had two choices, really. Black, which he wore every day and the green he wore when he was watching Slytherin play Quidditch. _And what do you bloody well care what you wear suddenly? Are we going to be calling you Gilderoy Lockhart next?_ Black was good enough for everyone else in the damn castle, it was certainly good enough for Aislinn. _Hannah. Her name is Hannah._ No, her name really was Aislinn. It was legal and proper, and even Dumbledore called her that. _So you actually approve of that rubbish about changing her name being liberating? The last thing that girl needed was liberation._

Severus slammed the doors of his wardrobe closed, but they bounced back open again. He sneered at them and slammed them again, and, stubbornly, they swung open again. "Bloody fucking hell," he muttered and shut them once again, more gently this time, and they stayed closed. "Even my own goddamn possessions scold me for my temper."

"Temper is right, Severus. You should really show some restraint."

Severus shot a glance at the portrait he had inherited with the quarters. He didn't know who the subject was, and didn't care. He'd never even asked. "Sod off," he told it firmly. "No one asked you." He grabbed up a towel and stalked back into the bathroom, peeling off his robes, and then cut off the water. As he put a foot in the steaming tub, he hissed at the temperature, but forced himself to endure it. _At least you can't possibly think of **her** when your skin is about to boil off._

That, apparently, was the wrong mental image to conjure, for soon his blood was boiling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water and less to do with his temper. He leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes for a moment, suffering the blissful agony of her memory. He didn't allow himself to linger long on the thoughts, though, and sank deeper into the water with the firm command to himself to master himself. _You are not some overly hormonal teenager anymore, just put it out of your mind._

He did manage to do that for the duration of his bath, despite the fact that he spent nearly three times as long in the water as he normally did. He washed his hair three times, and considered a fourth scouring but decided against it. If it wasn't clean after three latherings, it never would be. When he finally stood, dripping, he shivered at the icy blast that hit him; even with a fire, his rooms were simply arctic compared to the water he'd been sitting in, and the frigid air was enough to put some haste into his movements as he dried himself. He noticed with a certain grim satisfaction that he had mastered his thoughts well enough that his body had appeared to give up on the idea of a certain raven-haired divination professor, but noticing that was enough to remind him, apparently, and he felt a hopeful arousing. Which he quelled with a stern determination, focusing instead on the merits of pewter cauldrons over silver.

By the time he had dressed himself in a black robe (one of his better ones, though still little different to the naked eye from the ones he commonly taught in) and had combed out his hair, he had mastered his thoughts yet again and thought it safe to edge away from the ingredients of the Veritasserum. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he scowled. His hair, at least, was no longer oil and limp. Now it managed an unexpected trick of being simultaneously limp and… frizzy. He scowled and ran his comb under water, combing his hair down again and sighing with relief as it plastered itself to his head. Much better. By the time he finished brushing his teeth, though, a glance told him that the lifeless black hair had once again taken on a life of its own. "Bloody…" he trailed off, and opened a cupboard, rummaging inside it. He had little to move around in there, not being one to take pains with his appearance he didn't have so much as a can of hairspray. He did, however, find a small tube of something in a plastic wrapper, which he took out and frowned at. It was a sample of something he'd found in his post last spring (even wizards have junk mail!), and what had possessed him to keep it instead of throwing it out was still a mystery. He peered at the words on it.

"Sidney Smelton's Smoothing Serum". He flipped it over and read the blurb on the back of it. "Use to tame fly-away locks and give your hair a polished finesse. Directions: rub a small amount between the palms of your hands and massage through hair."

Severus looked around his room, as though searching for help, then looked at the small tube of smoothing serum. "Well," he muttered under his breath with another look in the mirror, "anything is better than…" he trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the comparison that had been on his lips. His hair looked insultingly reminiscent of that brat Potter. Both the elder and the younger. He read the instructions a second time and his scowl deepened. "A small amount," he muttered. "Nothing like specific instructions." If he'd given his students instructions that vague, he wouldn't hold them responsible if they blew up the entire castle. "So how much is a 'small amount'?" He looked at his reflection, which shrugged at him.

"As little as possible, I'd say. You can always add more, but getting the stuff out might be a problem."

Severus nodded. That made sense. He opened the tube and sniffed at it, making a face, then squeezed a small bead the size of a pea onto his palm and touched it gingerly with his fingertip. It was… oily. He rubbed his fingers together and stared at the resulting sheen. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Spend the better part of an hour washing the grease out and then use a little tube to put it back in." Another glance in the mirror, though, told him that anything would be preferable to his present condition, though, so he took a deep breath and rubbed his palms together, then ran his hands through his hair. He turned his head one way, then another, and frowned contemplatively, looking at the tube of serum again. That really wasn't so bad, was it? He touched his hair, and then shrugged, dropping the tube onto the counter. He might have to consider actually _buying_ some of that…

Since when do you care what you look like? He ignored that question and ducked back into his dressing room to don his robes.

* * *

Severus was not the first to arrive in the Great Hall, but nor was he the last. Dumbledore and McGonagall were already there, as were Flitwick and Madame Hooch. Close on his heels came Madame Pomfrey, and one by one the other teachers arrived. Jordan Mickery, Severus noted with some satisfaction, arrived looking slightly out of breath, as though he'd just run from his quarters. The last to arrive was Aislinn—_no, Hannah—_and her appearance was enough to stop conversations. Everyone was, of course, dressed in their best robes, but she was one of two female teachers at Hogwarts who were young enough to be considered attractive by anyone who wasn't old enough to be Severus' grandfather. The other of the two, Sybill Trelawney, looked as ridiculous as she always did; there was little difference between the sparkling, bangle-covered robes she wore on a daily basis and the sparkling, bangle-strewn one she wore now. Aislinn, however, was a vision to behold in a velvet robe the color of copper edged with falls of cream-colored lace. Her hair was swept into an elegant style, studded with tiny pearls that he could see even from the distance across the Hall. Softly curling tendrils of her raven-black hair escaped (or had been artfully released) from the graceful sweep of hair that crowned her head, caressing her shoulders and outlining her tantalizing neck. The jewelry she wore would have been gaudy on a smaller woman, but she carried it off beautifully, copper-colored earrings that brushed her jaw and sparkled with a brilliant yellow stone, and a matching necklace that followed the curve of her robe's neckline and ended in a teardrop, as though pointing the way to her breasts. The sight took Severus' breath away, and he shifted slightly.

She looked his way, and a smile bloomed across her face, warming his heart and ensnaring his senses, and he smiled back, in spite of himself, glad that he'd taken the extra time with his appearance before coming today. He felt he should step forward and take her hand, but he was rooted to the spot, so he watched her as she glided in slowly, gracefully, almost as though she were dancing. After a moment, she paused, and cocked her head to the side, her hand extended with a slight movement of her shoulders that was very nearly a shrug. _Go escort her, you graceless git!_ he scolded himself, and, in so doing startled himself from the thoughts he was so deploy engrossed in. His smile broadening even more, he took half a step forward, and then froze. A movement caught from the corner of Hs eye, then, to his horror, he saw Jordan Mickery stepping free of the gathering of staff, striding confidently towards her.

Severus felt as though an army of flies were buzzing around his head, and, as he stared in disbelief, Mickery closed the gap between them and bowed formally to her, offering his arm. _You would have never thought of that,_ came an accusatory voice deep in his mind. He didn't even have the wherewithal to respond mentally to that voice, just stood there, his heart wrenching itself in half as he saw her take Mickery's hand. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and, judging by the way she beamed up at him—and she did have to beam _up_ at him, despite the fact that she was wearing those confounded heels again—this was the desired event for her. Severus closed his eyes, finally, not wanting to watch any longer.

"Don't they make a stunning couple?" came a whisper somewhere behind him, and Severus half-turned to see Madame Hooch commenting apparently to thin air.

"She certainly couldn't have chosen a more handsome man, could she?" That time it was McGonagall's voice, softly speculative.

No. Severus wanted to run from the Hall, back to his chambers, to close the door and not emerge until Dumbledore fired him for abandoning his classes. He wanted to sink into the floor and pretend he had never existed. He wanted to scream, to punch that miserable Mickery right in the middle of his perfect nose. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg Aislinn to reconsider.

You didn't really think she wanted anything to do with you, did you? Severus closed his eyes again. _She said she wanted—_the thought didn't go very far, and there was a sneering in his mind. _She said she wanted to be your friend. Your friend. Not your lover, not you paramour, nothing elicit, nothing inappropriate. Just a friend. Admit it, old boy, you've been had._

There was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly, and Severus opened his eyes again and looked at Dumbledore.

"She is quite stunning, isn't she?" A gentle squeeze of his shoulder softened Dumbledore's words somewhat.

"Undeniably," Severus whispered. _I should walk away,_ he thought desperately. _The last thing I need right now is the Headmaster playing that I'm the son he never had. The very last thing._ Or perhaps the one thing he did need; fatherly advice and silent commiseration. He had his doubts that Dumbledore had missed his infatuation.

"She deserves happiness, Severus. I think you know that as well as I do."

Of course she does, he thought bitterly. _But why can't it be happiness with me? _He'd no more than formed the unspoken question when he had his unspoken reply. _Because who would want you when there is another choice? Any other choice? And be honest, Severus, any woman would choose Mickery over you any day of the week, and twice on Sundays._ "I know," he replied softly. "I just sometimes wish I did as well."

Before the headmaster could speak again, Severus was walking quickly away to take his place at the staff table.

* * *

The feast passed at a blurred snail's pace, with the words of those around him passing over Severus' head and his eyes unable to focus on any one person. He couldn't even manage his normal vigilance of the Gryffindor table, though some part of his mind was certain that those little fools were well aware of his inattention and taking full advantage of the lapse. It didn't really seem to matter, though, and he found himself unaccountably absorbed in the slice of cake on his plate, which he did little more with than scrape off the frosting. His appetite—not that it had ever been remarkable—seemed to have vanished all together, and every time he glanced down the table and saw the sparkling and effervescent Hannah—Aislinn—beaming at that prick, he felt an odd urge to vomit. The nausea always passed, though, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth that pumpkin juice had little effect on.

"Are you quite all right, Severus? I don't think you've heard a word I've been saying."

Severus looked at McGonagall, and came close to responding with a biting retort, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't dislike her—nor she him—nearly as much as they pretended. Theirs was a rivalry, long-standing and not about to die, that was based on Quidditch games and House Cups rather than any particular animosity between them. In all honesty, Severus was rather fond of the old bag, and he felt slightly abashed to hear that she'd been speaking with her and he'd failed to notice. "My apologies, Minerva," he said softly. "What were you saying?" He forced his attention to her, but it waned quickly and he noted with some degree of shock that the feast was ending, the younger students going back to their common rooms for the evening.

"It wasn't important," she said, shaking her head a bit, "but it is unlike you to not pay attention. What is bothering you so?"

He sighed heavily and placed his fork on his plate. "Nothing," he replied shortly, then, glimpsing a wounded expression on her face, he amended his harsh denial. "Nothing I wish to discuss, at least."

She nodded, seeming to accept that. "Come along, Severus, the dance is starting soon."

He winced inwardly. "Doesn't someone need to patrol the corridors?" he asked, almost daring to hope. "I'd be more than happy to…"

"Nonsense," McGonagall said firmly. "Firenze has already volunteered, and Albus thought he was the perfect choice. Between him and Filch, I doubt there will be any problems. All we need do is see to our bedchecks every other hour," she told him, "and that should suffice."

Severus nodded, and added his wand to the efforts to move the House tables to the outer edges of the room. Albus clapped his hands together once, and the banners ascended into the ceiling, crepes of orange and black replacing them. The tables, shoved along the walls, were indiscernible from one another now, and all laden with cookies and punch bowls, and a soft music began to drift sourcelessly through the Great Hall. Severus watched, tortured, as Mickery bowed to Aislinn, who curtsied and took his hand. They were the first on the dance floor, and, as they swept past where he and Minerva were standing, Severus had a perfect opportunity to glimpse the delighted expression on Aislinn's face. There was no doubt that she was precisely where she wanted to be, waltzing in Mickery's arms.

Dumbledore and Madame Hooch were stepping out, and then, to Severus' surprise, Minerva smiled at him. "You might ask me to dance, Professor Snape," she suggested formally, and his lips thinned into a semblance of a smile.

"Might I have the pleasure of a dance, Minerva?" he asked, extending his hand. She took it and smiled at him.

"I would be delighted, Severus," she replied, and he led her onto the floor.

Theirs was a silent dance, and his eyes kept slipping to Aislinn, who seemed entirely absorbed in Mickery and unaware that there was anyone else in the Hall. Severus frowned slightly at the students gathered around the edges of the floor, most looking rather suspiciously at their dancing teachers.

"If I were a bit younger," Minerva interrupted his thoughts and he looked at her again, "I might be offended that my dance partner could not spare me so much as a glance."

Severus sighed softly, spinning Minerva about. There was no reason to make her suffer as much as he was over this. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I'm afraid my mind is far from the Great Hall tonight." His gaze slipped back to Mickery and Aislinn, and Minerva's sharp eyes followed his.

"I think," she commented dryly, "that your thoughts are very firmly in the Great Hall." He had the grace to blush faintly. They danced in silence for a moment longer, his gaze still lingering on Aislinn and Mickery, and Minerva finally said something that _did_ catch his attention. "You know," she observed distantly, "When they first came in, I thought they made a perfect couple, but I'm not so sure now."

"Jordan Mickery is a contemptuous peacock," Severus muttered under his breath. "I wouldn't insult any woman by saying he was a good match for her."

Minerva smiled slightly. "He really isn't as bad as all that," she told him, "but I don't expect you to believe it, and perhaps with good reason."

Severus replied with a snort, which he thought was considerably more than the commented had warranted.

"And this is not merely about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, is it, this time?"

He didn't grace _that_ with a response either.

"Perhaps, my boy," she said as the song ended and they came to a halt, "you should ask Miss Ichalia to dance."

Severus glanced in the direction of Mickery and Aislinn again, and saw that they had separated as well. "And to what end? We've all seen who she chooses for her partner."

Minerva shook her head and reached up, catching his chin firmly between sharp fingers. "Don't be silly, Severus. The students are the ones who make such a fuss about who comes with who and who doesn't dance every dance with his or her date. Adults dance with whomever they please, and I have neither heard nor seen anything that would suggest, even casually, that Miss Ichalia and Mr. Mickery have shared anything more than a dance." She let go of him and stepped back. "However, if she is not aware of your affections, she might have little reason to think twice should her chance with him arise." And, having dispensed that bit of wisdom, Minerva was off, walking towards Dumbledore.

Severus looked for Aislinn again, and his eyes finally found Jordan leading her to a pair of chairs, and he watched as they sat and began talking. She laughed at something he said, and then he beamed at her, and then her eyes went to a point across the Hall, and Severus glanced where she was looking, but he saw nothing. When he turned to look at Aislinn again, Mickery was standing, and a moment later he was walking away from her, heading towards a punchbowl. Severus took that as his chance, and slipped through the crowd to where Aislinn was sitting.

You aren't really going to ask her to dance, are you? He didn't know which facet of his mind that incredulous question had come from, but that hardly mattered; he wasn't going to dwell on it, for fear he would lose his nerve. He reached her, and cleared his throat softly, and she looked up at him, that smile blooming across her face again.

"Severus!" she exclaimed and stood, taking a step towards him. "Are you enjoying the evening so far?" she asked, seeming genuinely interested in his answer.

And what was that answer to be? The truth? It was hardly appropriate. _I was looking forward to the evening immensely, but imagine my horror when you seemed so glad to see Mickery. I suppose, though, that I should be grateful and count my blessings that the desirable Miss Ichalia has finally deemed me worthy of her notice. At the moment, then, I must say that my evening is looking brighter, but whether or not that glow lasts will depend entirely on you response to my proposal._ No, he couldn't say that. "It's a lovely evening," he replied noncommittally. "And you?"

"Oh," she laughed, "it's been smashing so far! I don't think I've had so much fun since _I_ was a student here. It does bring back memories, though. Did you notice? Elizabeth and Amity are here with Bradley and Richard. I guess they took your advice then," she commented, and automatically, Severus' eyes popped back across the room, and he noted what she'd been looking at before. The two girls from earlier in the day, both beaming and talking to each other while two boys stood behind them, talking to each other.

"They're here together?" he asked, squinting for a hint of what Aislinn was seeing that he couldn't see.

"Mmm-hmm," she said, and he looked at her, to find her beaming.

"But they aren't even talking to each other…" he glanced at the students again, and noted for perhaps the first time in his life that there were very few actual couples. Plenty of clusters of students, bigger than normal, and a few unlikely pairings, but not many boys with a girl on their arms, giving her full and reciprocated attention.

"Oh, at that age that hardly matters, Severus," Aislinn said matter-of-factly.

"Well, hello, Severus." Blinking, Severus cursed silently as it dawned on him that he'd just squandered his opportunity alone with Aislinn by talking about students' love lives, and now Mickery had returned. He offered a cup of punch to Aislinn, then grinned at Severus. "I didn't see you were here," he said casually, "or I'd have brought you a cup as well."

Severus' lips twitched, a sneer threatening. "That's quite all right," he said formally. "I was just…" he paused and looked at Aislinn, who was smiling at another cluster of students. "I was just leaving," he finished. "Good evening, Miss Ichalia. Mr. Mickery."

Aislinn smiled at him, glancing his way again. "Don't forget to save me a dance, Severus!" she called as he departed, and he very nearly faltered in his steps. Another song was starting, though, and Aislinn was making her excuses from Mickery. He watched with some confusion as she approached a group of students; seventh-year Slytherin boys who did not have dates. That was always a problem in Slytherin; there were many more boys than girls, and the lot of them were generally unpopular with anyone except themselves.

Something tugged at Severus' heart as he saw Aislinn speak to one of the boys, who suddenly pointed to himself, his eyes wide. Aislinn nodded, and held out a hand, and the boy looked at his companions, then shrugged and took her hand. She led him to the dance floor, and Severus couldn't decide whether to laugh or shake his head as she positioned the boy's hand on her waist and looked down, the boy looking down as well. Given the slow and awkward way they were moving, Severus had the impression that she was teaching the youth to dance, and his suspicions were confirmed when they waltzed past. As they passed, Severus could see that the boy in question was one Gerald LeBraun, a particularly awkward young man who was counting under his breath, so intent on not stepping on Miss Ichalia's toes that he failed to notice the teacher winking at the two teachers.

Laughter beside him brought Severus' attention away from the Divination teacher. "Sporting of her, don't you think?" Mickery asked, swallowing his punch in one gulp. "Perhaps I'll take a page out of her book. Couldn't hurt, could it?" Mickery set his cup aside, and Severus watched, stunned, as he made his way to a group of Hufflepuff girls and soon emerged with one of them looking wide-eyed up at him.


	14. Conspiracy

Four days and fifteen chapters later... Nah, I don't need a life or anything. Actually, I just wanted to note that I had nothing to do with this chapter. I accept no responsibility for the characters, and this was a plot born in Aislinn's head, _NOT MINE_. I just wanted to make that clear.

* * *

"Take a page from her book, indeed," Severus muttered under his breath. "If I asked one of them, she'd probably laugh in my face."

"No, she'd probably be too pleased that someone noticed her to think abuot laughing," said a voice behind him, and he spun around. Dumbledore again.

"I…"

Dumbledore raised a hand and smiled kindly. "But it is your choice, Severus. If you wish to ask one of the girls to dance, it would very likely make her night; few like to be the one left out of the festivities." Severus nodded absently, watching as Mickery and Aislinn seemed to catch each other's eye, and soon they were sweeping near each other. Both paused, and Mickery, to Severus' horror, let go of the Hufflepuff he'd been dancing with, and offered a hand to Aislinn, who spared only one glance at Gerald before letting go of his hand.

"That," Severus muttered, "was cruel of them."

Dumbledore was smiling though. "Actually," he said, stroking his beard, "I think it was rather brilliant. Look."

Severus looked again, and his eyes widened marginally as Gerald and the Hufflepuff were suddenly waltzing together, Mickery guiding Aislinn back over to where Severus stood. They were both laughing as they approached, and as they drew close enough for Severus to hear, Mickery was asking, "I wonder how many times we could get away with that before they figure out what we're doing?"

Aislinn laughed too. "If we could enlist the help of Severus and Madame Hooch…" she was suggesting, and before Severus had the chance to protest, Mickery was beaming.

"Brilliant!" he said, "I'll go speak with the old girl, and perhaps Sybill as well. Think we could convince Flintwick to help out?"

Severus opened his mouth to insist that he wasn't going to be any part of this conspiracy, but Aislinn apparently already had it decided. She leaned close to him, her scent intoxicating him. "Severus, see that group of Ravenclaws over there?" she was pointing. His eyes followed her finger and he nodded. "Go ask one of them to dance," she commanded, "and I'll meet you on the floor with one of those Gryffindors over there," she nodded her head towards a cluster and was off before he had the chance to protest.

Severus cursed silently but vehemently. He had little choice, though, and, wishing he had a strong drink to fortify himself for what he was sure was going to utter and abject humiliation, he set off for the cluster of half a dozen Ravenclaw girls. They were all Sixth Years, and four of them were in his NEWT Potions class. _If she says no,_ he thought sourly, _I'll have her in detention for the next month._ He knew he wouldn't, though. Besides, he didn't even know which of them he was going to ask yet. The girls all stopped talking when it became clear that the Potions Master was approaching them, and they all took on a vaguely frightened look, as though they worried he was about to send them all to the dungeons.

He drew to a halt in front of them and took a careful breath. "Ladies," he addressed them all, and noted that one of them, one of the ones _not_ in his NEWT class, smiled weakly at him. Melissa, he remembered from the previous year, had earned a high enough mark on her OWL to take his class, but had opted not to do so. "I trust you are all enjoying youselves?" There was a general nodding among them, and a few murmurs, but nothing difinitive. Bloody little dunderheads not giving him anything to work with. "Good," he commented, looking over his shoulder again. Aislinn had one of the Gryffindor boys on the floor again. _How does she do that?_ he wondered, then cleared his throat. "Miss Kichney," he addressed the one who'd smiled at him, and smiled as friendly a smile as he could muster. _Just don't scare her to death,_ he told himself firmly. "May I have the pleasure of a dance?" he asked, offering her hand.

Melissa's eyes widened, and she looked at the two girls on either wide of her, who were also wide-eyed. One of the other girls giggled, and another one nudged Melissa, and the giggles spread, to Severus' horror. He was beginning to feel like a fool standing there with his hand out, but just before he gave up and went to tell Aislinn to find another pawn, Melissa nodded. "All- All right," she stammered and took his hand.

Severus drew her awkwardly onto the dance floor, and, to his immense relief, she seemed to know how to dance. He wasn't sure he could have taught her as Aislinn had taught Gerald; Severus was barely proficient himself, having had little opportunity to practice over the years. He was talented enough to match Melissa Kichney, though, who was also of dubious talent, and, as he guided her towards the middle of the floor, his eyes scanning for Aislinn, he made small talk. "How are your classes going this year?" he asked, not really sure what to say to a sixteen-year-old girl who wasn't in one of his classes.

"Okay," she replied, looking as awkward as he felt. A little more awkward, in fact. Her hands were clammy, and twice she stepped on his foot, but he gallantly ignored that.

"I was surprised that you were not on my rolls this year."

"Oh," she muttered, suddenly looking like she wished she were anywhere else in the world. "I, erm, I'm going for a position at Gringott's," she offered, though it had the sound of an excuse. "I didn't have room for potions in my schedule after all my required classes." He rather thought that was a lie, as he'd seen her coming out of Firenze's divination class, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well, Miss Kichney," he said formally as Aislinn caught his eye from across the room and nodded. That, he assumed, was his signal, and he began veering Melissa towards the center of the dance floor. "I wish you luck in your career choice," he told her, and had a hard time keeping a straight face as Aislinn 'accidentally' backed into him.

"Oh!" she gasped, and laughed. "I am sorry, Severus, I wasn't watching where I was going very closely, was I?"

Severus felt like that was supposed to be his cue for something, but he hadn't the slightest idea what. _Why didn't you educate me as to the rules of this little espionnage before you involved me?_ he moaned inwardly. Outwardly, he smiled. "That's quite all right, Aislinn. Er…" he looked at his own dance partner, and at the young Gryffindor who had stepped back from Aislinn in surprise. "You don't mind if I cut in, do you, Mr. Green?" The boy in question was another Sixth Year, this one _in_ NEWT Potions. The young man's mouth worked silently, and Severus shot a quick glance to Melissa and nodded slightly, and he noticed that Aislinn was winking at the girl.

"I, er…" the boy said, but Aislinn had taken control of the situation and slipped her hand in Severus' and was already tugging him back onto the floor, though in a subtle enough way that it looked like he was still leading her. He shot a glance over his shoulder, and saw that Mr. Green was saying something to Melissa, whose eyes were wide but was nodding. Soon the two of them were dancing together, and this time Severus couldn't help but laugh.

Aislinn grinned up at him, and she nodded towards the corner again, where several of the teachers were grouped, and they danced their way back across the room.

"Very good!" Hooch was saying, her smile broad as she slapped Severus on the back hard enough to make him stumble a bit. "That's eight down and only three dozen to go!" Severus glanced over his shoulder at the students, who were talking more in their little clusters.

He threw caution to the wind. "Shall we meet on the floor, Madame Hooch?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering in a way that was not vindictive for once.

"Quite right, Snape," she said, slapping him on the back again and setting off towards a group of Hufflepuffs. Severus took a deep breath and looked at the options he had. There was a group of Hufflepuff girls, but so far they were having so much success getting the Houses to mingle that he didn't really want to disrupt that. There were three Slytherin girls off to one side, but based on his knowledge of them, he doubted they really wanted to be dancing; they seemed content enough with their cake. The group of Ravenclaw girls, well, he couldn't see pulling the same ploy on another one of them right away, so that only left… Taking a deep breath, he crossed the floor to where a trio of Gryffindors were standing.

"Your pardon, ladies," he said, much more smoothly this time than he'd managed with the Ravenclaws. "I was wonering, Miss Rennick, if I might entice you to dance?" He had picked one of the homeliest of the bunch, a plump Fifth Year with messy tangles of brown hair, who reminded him a great deal of Aislinn when she was that age. _There's hope for you,_ he wanted to assure her, but kept his mouth shut.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded silently, and, to the wide-eyed astonishment of her companions, took his hand. It took considerably less time and conversation to connect with Madame Hooch than it had taken to connect with Aislinn, and before the song was even well under way, Becky Rennick was dancing with a Hufflepuff Sixth Year.

As it happened, the students caught on fairly quickly to their teachers' ploy, but that only made it easier. Severus visited the Hufflepuffs, and barely stifled a laugh as the girl he picked looked anxiously around the room for who she was going to be deposited with. With a grin, Severus spun her around quickly several times until she clutched his arms to remain standing. "It's Mark Brightman," he whispered in her ear, and didn't bother to fight the laugh as her eyes lit up. He didn't even have to stop this time, and neither did Sybill who simply let go of Mark's hands and the two students fell in step together.

As Severus guided Sybill back to the corner, he couldn't help shaking his head. "Those little gits," he muttered, "they know, and they're just waiting for someone to pair them up. It would save time to just point at them and tell them to dance." Despite his words, though, Severus knew that he was enjoying this. Immensely. He hadn't anticipated another school dance being _fun_. They were usually miserable events where boredom eventually won over all the students' promises of good being forgotten in the face of boredom.

After four more pairings of students, Severus was beginning to take more care in which girls he asked to join him based on the selections his fellow-conspirators were making. As he swept a Fourth-Year Ravenclaw to Join a Sixth Year Slytherin, he grinned in response to the grateful look he received from the young man. As he handed the girl into the lad's arms, he found himself the happy recipient of another brief turn with Aislinn. He started to guide her back to the corner, but she stopped him with a touch of her hand. "How about a dance for us?" she asked quietly, and he smiled.

"The pleasure would be mine," he told her, and his smile broadened even more as she seemed to relax in his arms, letting him guide her around the floor in truth instead of just in appearance. "Are you enjoying your evening?" he asked oblivious to the stares that were beginning to follow them.

"I am," she replied, her eyes twinkling, but he could see the beginnings of a cloud to them. Her head was starting to hurt. "Are you?" she asked.

"The best I've had in quite a long time," he replied, pulling her a little closer. She obliged, but he wasn't sure if her motives were the same as his. He was contemplating asking her if she didn't want to come to the dungeons with him for a few moments so he could brew her a bit of potion, but he had a feeling she'd resist. He thought carefully for a moment, then, braced himself. "I think," he said softly, "that I've had quite enough dancing for a bit. Would you care to join me for a glass of punch?" he asked. In reality, the last thing he wanted was to let go of her; dancing, after all, was one of the few socially acceptable occasions for a man to touch a woman intimately, and he was reluctant to give her up now that he was finally getting a chance with her, but her eyes were growing increasingly opaque, and he could almost imagine her head pounding in three-quarters time to the music.

The smile she gave him was grateful, and it told him he wasn't fooling her for a moment. To his surprise, though, she pulled him closer suddenly, her hand sliding from his shoulder to hook across the back of his neck, and guiding his hand to encirlce her waist more closely. "I don't care what anyone says," she whispered in his ear, her voice little more than a breath that sent shivers up his spine as it passed his ear, "you are a good man, Severus Snape." She pulled her arms tighter around him, and he returned the affectionate squeeze, his heart suddenly feeling as though it were being squeezed. "I'd love to join you for punch."

He let go of her hand, and pushed a lock of her hair from her face. "Outside, in the courtyard?" he suggested, thinking that getting away from the din might help somewhat. She nodded, and he directed her to the door, and then opened it for her, handing her outside into the crisp night air. "Have a seat," he suggested, "I'll bring us out some punch." He made a note of where she was sitting, then went back inside to fill a pair of glasses with the bright orange punch.

"That was quite noble of you," came a voice behind him, and Severus groaned inwardly as McGonagall stepped forward, busying herself with a glass of punch.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Severus replied.

"Aislinn. You've been wanting to dance with her all night, but when you finally got the chance, you directed her for a break. Poppy has been close to bursting a blood vessel over her being on her feet so much so soon."

Her feet? Oh, right, she sprained her ankle. "I had forgotten all about that," Severus said, quite honestly.

McGonagall snorted. "Very well," she said, though her tone said she didn't believe him for a moment. "After this song ends, would you care to walk an old woman to the Gryffindor Tower while you check in on you Slytherins?"

Shit. He'd forgotten all about that. He nodded, though. "It would be my honor," he replied, picking up the two glasses of punch and slipping back outside.


	15. Bitter words

Thank you for the reviews!

Eqypt--thank you for the compliments :)

Seanolly-- regarding feelings, I've always thought Snape is likely one of the most deeply feeling characters in the books; few people achieve his level of bitterness without having first been hurt deeply, and to be hurt deeply requires a significant capacity for emotion.

Snapesgirl--I've bookmarked those stories, and I'll read them as soon as I get the chance.

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**November 18**

"Mind if I join you? I don't expect we'll have many more days that are suitable for cider this year."

Aislinn looked up from the essays she was marking and smiled broadly at Jordan, who had entered the staff room holding two steaming mugs in his hands. Since the Halloween feast, he had been increasingly attentive, and her heart threatened to melt again and again as he proved his charm and sophistication over and over. They had spent many a crisp afternoon walking the grounds, talking about life and students and Hogwarts and Quidditch. They'd passed many a lazy morning with tea and silence as they prepared for their days. He'd taken to showing up at her classroom as the last class was leaving each day and offering to carry her books for her; an act which, while rather school-boyish, she found endearing. They'd gone into Hogsmeade and spent a day with butterbeer, talking about this and that and everything and nothing. They'd spent a very late night in the Astronomy Tower, with her pointing out constellations and planets and explaining what they meant. He had listened, enraptured, though when she asked him, he'd admitted that it didn't matter what she talked about, she would have his undivided attention.

And somewhere, he'd managed to work out of her that she just loved hot apple cider, but couldn't imagine drinking it except when under the influence of Libra, Scorpio, or Sagittarius suns. "Thank you," she smiled, accepting the fragrant mug and holding it to her face, inhaling the steam.

In the last three weeks, the only thing marring the perfection of the time she'd been spending with Jordan was Severus. Somehow, Aislinn sensed, he had gotten it into his head that she had feelings for him. Strong feelings. The type of feelings she didn't allow herself to develop for anyone. She'd certainly never encouraged it, but he was convinced of it, and she could never seem to broach the subject long enough to disillusion him of that notion. She wished he'd be more reasonable. Like Jordan, who knew where she stood and treated her like a queen anyway. It had been difficult to have that conversation with him, but she'd felt she owed it to him; she was looking for nothing permanent, no strings, nothing she would regret in the morning. Or next month or next year. While she wasn't entirely sure that Jordan believed her, he at least didn't press the issue.

Neither did Severus, strictly speaking, though she had enough experience with men in general to know that any time one of them consistently turned up when she was alone was a bad sign. She'd tried dropping subtle hints, but he'd failed to notice, or failed to interpret them. She'd tried dropping not-so-subtle hints, but had fared no better with that tactic. And she tried to remind herself, constantly, that she had to be much more careful about potentially leading Severus on than she did about Jordan. Jordan, after all, was an experienced man, who had more than likely fared a number of rejections. Severus, on the other hand, seemed much more fragile somehow, and she was loathe to hurt him. He'd been hurt often enough in the past; he didn't need her to add another chapter to that book.

"How was your day?" Jordan had seated himself at the table, moving a stack of parchment aside so he would have a place to set his drink.

"Not bad, I suppose," she replied with a slight smile, taking a sip of the spiced liquid and sighing contentedly. "Yours?"

"Quite nice," Jordan replied softly. "I had a rather enjoyable interl—"

Whatever Jordan had been going to say was interrupted by the opening of the door, and Aislinn smiled welcomingly at Severus, waving him inside. "Good afternoon, Severus," she said brightly, pretending not to notice how his eyes narrowed when he saw Jordan. Whatever happiness and laughter he had managed to find on Halloween seemed to have disappeared with the end of the dance, and the following morning, Severus had been his usual, bitter self again.

"Good afternoon, Miss Ichalia," he replied tightly, and walked to the cupboard, having apparently decided to ignore Jordan after the other wizard failed to crumble beneath that withering gaze. Jordan cleared his throat softly, and Aislinn shot him a warning look.

She really couldn't blame him for it; after all, Severus' attitude could try the patience of a saint, but Aislinn wished that Jordan was still as benevolently ignorant of the Potions Master as he'd been a month ago. Somehow, though, that wasn't really a realistic wish it seemed, and Severus' malice had been quite contagious. She could only hope that the two managed to keep their tempers away from each other.

Taking another sip of cider, Aislinn tried to busy herself with her grading, but even without looking, she could feel the tension in the room. Jordan was watching Severus with a distrust that made Aislinn wonder if the Dark Arts teacher was actually waiting for Severus to do or say something. She placed a hand gently on his arm and shook her head almost indiscernibly. As it happened, though, it was Severus whom she likely should have been calming.

"So," the Potions Master said abruptly, his voice carrying through the paneled room like the crash of an avalanche, "I do hope that I'm not…" he paused meaningfully, and his eyes locked onto Aislinn's for a moment, "…interrupting anything."

Aislinn's eyes narrowed indignantly. _And just what do you think you'd be interrupting? s_he thought hotly. _Do you really take me for the type to abandon all decency and have a tumble on the floor of the staff room?_ Aloud, though, she said nothing, merely sipped her cider. Jordan, however, was not so restrained.

"And just what the hell do you think you're implying, Severus?"

Severus shrugged, making quite a show of furrowing his brow, as though he were thinking carefully about something. "Let's see," he began, his voice that icy hiss that had always made students cringe, "a man and a woman alone together, and certainly not for the first time, sitting far too close to one another to be conveniently coincidental…" He was thoughtfully stirring his tea now, and he frowned as though in contemplation. "What might I possibly be implying there?" He raised one eyebrow, taking in both Jordan and Aislinn. If he noted Aislinn's increasingly tight expression, Severus did not give any indication that it impressed him.

Jordan stood, and folded his arms as he walked towards Severus. "Why don't you either come out with an accusation or leave us the hell alone?" he challenged. Aislinn rolled her eyes and took a sip of her cider.

Men, she thought with an inward sigh as she picked up an essay and began reading it. So much for a nice, intriguing conversation with Jordan. She squinted at the scratchy scrawl on the parchment in her hand and tried to ignore the two men who were looking more and more like puffed-up roosters staking claim to a hen-house than a pair of distinguished wizards.

The trine between Jupiter and Pluto is an uneasy alliance at best, she was reading, _These two planets, while superficially similar, have very different methods of operation, though, which introduces a constant strain…_

"…too much of a coward to say what's on your mind, Snape? Why don't you…"

Aislinn tried to block them out. _…a constant strain to the area of influence. While both planets have a certain association with wealth and riches (and on a more esoteric level, with rewards), Jupiter is more closely connected with…_

"…really think it's wise to flaunt your lust all over the grounds where hormonally enraged students are likely to…"

…connected with luck and destiny, Pluto is a planet which believes soundly in hard work, and does not approve of Jupiter's insistence that there is little inherent value in labor. It does not, of course, help matters that Jupiter is, indeed, often very fortunate to…

"And I'll thank you to keep your nose out of our business! Or is it a little too large for you to control where it ends up?"

Aislinn's eyes drifted back to the two men—_men? Overgrown boys is more like it!—_and she frowned at the scene. "Jordan…" she said in a warning voice. He spared her a look, and she went back to the parchment.

…fortunate to stumble into lucky situations and…

"That's right, _Jordan_," Severus was hissing again. Like a bloody snake. "Best behave yourself. After all, you don't know what trouble you may be inviting."

Aislinn turned her scowl to the potions professor. "Really, Severus," she sighed tiredly, "you could stop provoking him."

Jordan's face took on a decidedly smug look, and Aislinn felt a dull ache settling in behind her left ear. "That's right, Severus," Jordan was saying, almost mockingly, "after all, if you provoke a dog long enough, he might well bite you."

"Can't you two take your pissing match elsewhere?" Aislinn asked, irritated, but neither appeared to have heard her.

Severus' eyes glittered dangerously. "A cur, perhaps," he snorted softly, and then looked pointedly at Aislinn. "Not a bad match for a bitch, though, I'd say."

Thwack. Aislinn jumped to her feet and cried out as Severus suddenly reeled backward into the table, knocking over Jordan's mug of cider, which spilled over the parchment Aislinn had been reading. "Shit!" she hissed, fumbling for her wand. "_Impervius!_" she cried softly, and the parchment stopped soaking up the warm liquid. "Severus, are you all ri-" she didn't have time to finish the question, though, before he had his wand out of his robes, a much more coordinated and graceful motion than her own groping had been.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he shouted, pointing his wand at Jordan, who suddenly lurched backward, his arms and legs flailing as he hit the wall.

"Stop it!" Aislinn yelled, grabbing Severus' arm.

Severus spun to look at her, his eyes glinting madly, his hair falling into his face, a trickle of blood oozing from his nose. At any other time, Aislinn might have found it vaguely amusing that a wizard had chosen to punch his opponent instead of casting a spell. There was nothing funny about this situation, though, and nothing approaching humor in Severus' voice. "You manipulative little…" he began, seething with anger, but he was cut off by a sudden blast from Jordan, who had apparently recovered.

Aislinn screamed as Severus went hurling backward, crashing through the door and into the corridor. "Jordan!" she screamed, "Stop that!"

Severus was already clambering to his feet again, and he had his wand raised to shoulder level when another voice pierced the fierce competition. "What is the meaning of this!"

Aislinn had heard that voice often enough as a student, but she'd never thought she'd be _glad_ to hear the demanding, displeased tone of Minerva McGonagall's voice. As it was, that disruption was apparently enough to bring both the men back to their senses, and Severus stood glaring for a moment, then shoved his wand back into his robes and turned on his heel, stalking off down the corridor, with no evident intention of explaining himself to Minerva. Jordan was picking up a chair from where it had been knocked over during the brief scuffle, and his silence spoke volumes. McGonagall looked to Aislinn who sent a withering glare towards the rapidly retreating form of Severus Snape, then rolled her eyes at Jordan. _Men_, she mouthed to Minerva, who nodded slowly, but lost none of the displeased look she had entered the room with.

Without another word, Jordan brushed past the both of them, casting a decidedly cool look at Aislinn, and was headed off down the corridor in the opposite direction from where Severus had gone. With them both gone, Aislinn shut the door again and sighed heavily, then bent over the table and began picking up the scattered parchments.

"Are you all right?"

Aislinn looked up at the Deputy Headmistress and nodded. "I'm fine," she said quietly, though she felt anything but fine.

"What was all that about?" Minerva asked mildly, and Aislinn felt, for the space of a moment, like she was sixteen again and had been caught sneaking around after bedtime.

You did nothing wrong, she told herself firmly as she straightened a stack of papers. _Maybe not, but you certainly didn't do much right, either,_ came an oddly accusing reply. "I don't actually know," she said after a moment. "I don't know who pissed in Severus' tea this morning, but he's been in a foul mood lately, and he came in making insinuations that Jordan wouldn't ignore." She frowned at the spilled cider and took out her wand again, pointing it at the puddle and muttering an incantation to dry it. "And the next thing I knew, they were acting like a pair of obnoxious boys fighting over possession of some corner of the schoolyard," she finished succinctly. Sinking into one of the wingback chairs, she sighed heavily again. "I'm glad you came in," she admitted, glancing at McGonagall. "They certainly weren't overly awed by my protestations."

McGonagall sat primly in another of the chairs. "My dear," she began, her voice much less irate than it had been just scant moments before, "when you are my age, you will have learned a few things. First being how to intimidate men into doing your bidding." Aislinn snorted softly in what could have passed for a humorless laugh. "Secondly," McGonagall was continuing, "that men need few reasons to fight sometimes, and fewer still to stop fighting. Do you really not know what they were fighting over?"

Aislinn's sigh probably insinuated that she had a better idea than she was letting on, but she stubbornly shook her head. "Not a clue," she replied.

Minerva shook her head and leaned forward to pat Aislinn's knee. "That's probably one of the reasons they were fighting over you, then."

With a grimace, the taller woman stood and folded her arms, turning away from the older woman. "I haven't done a thing to encourage either of them," she protested, "except perhaps being friendly."

"Sometimes, that's all it takes."

Aislinn looked over her shoulder. "So am I to be as bitter and lonely as Snape is, just to avoid-"

"Not at all," McGonagall interrupted. "If you are not inviting their attentions, then put it from your head. They are grown men, and both old enough to control their tempers," she was saying, her lips thinning again, "and I am certain that neither of them will wish a repeat performance of this evening. The both of them know that their actions were unacceptable conduct for teachers, and I doubt that either will escape without a few words from the Headmaster." Aislinn opened her mouth to protest but a stern look from McGonagall changed her mind for her. "It is really not to be tolerated among students even, but really, the staff ought to be setting a better example, and Dumbledore will find out, so it is best he hears it from me. I am sure he will be speaking to the both of them. Shall I have him tell them to keep their distance from you?"

Aislinn opened her mouth to say 'no, of course not', but closed it quickly and considered that for a moment. It might be easier, after all, but… She frowned. But she didn't want to lose the friendship she'd just spent the last three weeks cultivating with Jordan, and, though she was back to square one with Severus, she wasn't quite prepared to give up on him either. He was, after all, a brilliant conversationalist when he forgot to be rude and biting. "No," she said finally, "I think not. I'll talk to them both and see if I can't make things a bit clearer for them." _I'll talk to them both separately,_ she amended silently.

McGonagall simply nodded. "Very well," she said, rising. "Oh, and Aislinn, I shouldn't be alarmed if Professor Dumbledore asks to speak with you about this. He likes to have all his information before making decisions." Aislinn's face must have betrayed a bit of her anxiety over this prospect, because Minerva smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry, dear, Albus is a fair and impartial man, and I doubt there is anything you can say one way or the other that would amount to a hill of beans beside what I will be telling him already. I just wanted you to be warned so you are not surprised to be summoned to his office."

"Thanks," Aislinn said softly, looking and feeling miserable about the whole ordeal.

"Are you quite sure you're all right?" McGonagall had paused once more.

"I'm fine," Aislinn insisted. McGonagall left the room quietly.


	16. Repercussions

grins at Egypt You might, just might, be surprised.

wink-nudges Ash back and yes, I'll move this over soonishly. It's about all I can do to update it right now, though, and Aislinn is incredibly insistent that I move the plot along daily.

Thank you both for reading and reviewing ;)

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November 19

Severus awoke early, having slept fitfully but dreamlessly all night. It had been some time since he'd not spent the night dreaming of a woman he knew he couldn't have, but the success of having passed the night free of her charms was little consolation. There was little comfort, after all, in knowing that he'd spent the last three months being a fool.

Finding no reason to linger in his bed, he rose, and padded silently across the cold stone floor, thinking for maybe the fifteenth time that year that he really ought to find a rug. Something to protect his bare feet from the icy cold that was already seeping into the castle and would only grow more bitter before it ended. He'd been telling himself for fourteen years that he needed to do that, but it somehow never seemed that important when he was doing anything except walking across it. It was one of the many fleeting thoughts that he entertained that he was not quite interested enough in to pursue. Most of his thoughts fell into that category, in fact, and had for as long as he could remember. If there had ever been a time when he was passionate about anything, perhaps it had been when he was a student at Hogwarts himself. A first-year student who was still too young to see the bleakness that life held.

With a sigh, he bent to turn on the water to fill his bath, and then headed back to his wardrobe to lay out his clothes for the day. There was nothing of interest in the wardrobe, only black, and once again Severus considered making a point to buy something that was not black, even if he never wore it, just so there would be something to break the monotony of the robes. The thought, however, was fleeting as the one about the rug, and as he pulled out the first black robe and shut the door, his mind was already drifting elsewhere. He slipped back into the bathroom and stopped the water, barely three inches of the liquid covering the bottom of the tub. More than enough, though, to bathe in, he decided. He hadn't the patience to run a tub full of water. _Not that you have anything more pressing to attend,_ his mind was quick to criticize. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he ignored the unwelcome thought and stripped, stepping into the tub.

A man with so little patience for running water had little patience for sitting in it, as well, and his bath passed quickly, as always (and with a half-muttered promise to himself that he'd do a better job of washing his hair tomorrow—an oft-repeated promise he made to himself and seldom fulfilled) and soon he was stepping out of the water again and toweling off. He snatched up his clothes and dressed quickly, sparing himself no more than a cursory glance in the mirror before settling into a chair, where he sat with his eyes closed and his legs stretched out in front of him for what seemed an interminable time. Seconds might have passed, or years, and it would have all been the same to Severus.

As it happens, it was close to half an hour before he opened his eyes to stare unseeing at the ceiling. The soft chiming of a clock announced that it was just now six, and too early still to make his way to the dungeon to prepare for his classes today. He could have almost wished that he had some papers to mark, at the very least, but he had finished all his grading last night. With a sigh, he stood and walked aimlessly to one of his bookshelves, and ran his fingers lightly over the titles, but nothing seemed to spark his interest.

He wandered over to his dresser, one of the pieces of furniture that saw very little use from him, and he frowned at the bottles on it for a moment, then turned one slightly so the label faced the front. He moved another, then, satisfied that they were all arranged properly, he drifted to his desk. He straightened the quill that lay beside his ink bottle, and then straightened the stack of blank parchment. Pages that seldom saw much use. Severus had few people to write to, and fewer still reasons _to_ write to begin with. He was turning back towards another shelf when his door began to open, the crack slowly widening to let in a fan of light from the corridor. Severus' hand closed around the handle of his wand, and he watched the door inch open, then folded his arms as a small figure stepped inside, apparently unaware that the room's occupant was not, indeed, in bed.

The House Elf slipped quietly to the bedside and climbed up onto the mattress, then frowned and turned to look one way and then another, his face etched with confusion. "Master Severus?" he called softly.

Severus stepped into the light, though for once the start from the small, servile being gave him no joy. "What is it?" he asked coldly.

The House Elf hopped down from the bed and knelt in front of Severus. "Borin is to tell Master Severus that Master Dumbledore is wishing to see him. Master Dumbledore said Master Severus is to come immediately."

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and nodded. "Very well, Borin. You may go." The elf, draped in what looked to be a polishing cloth, bowed his way from the room and Severus was alone again. _Well,_ he thought dryly, _no need even to pretend I don't know why he wants to talk to me. I'll probably be lucky to be given the chance to come back to gather my things before he boots me out of here._ Of course, even as the thoughts formed themselves, Severus didn't really think that Dumbledore would sack him. There was too much at stake. No, his fate was likely to be far less pleasant than merely being dismissed from Hogwarts. Much less pleasant indeed.

"I must say, Severus, that I am very disappointed in you." For once, Albus Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling above his half-moon glasses, and he seemed quite serious indeed.

Severus, also uncharacteristically, was sitting in a chair, slumped slightly, wishing he were anywhere but where he was. He knew he'd been rash yesterday afternoon, and he'd had little hope that Minerva would keep her mouth shut about the whole affair—_and would you have, if you were in her shoes? _asked a voice that he didn't want to listen to—but he had harbored a bit of hope that his long-time fellow staff-member would have painted him in a more positive light than she'd painted Mickery. As it happened, though, Severus had little reason to doubt that Dumbledore had any delusions about the scuffle, and probably not about the reasons behind it. He kept quiet, though, having found some of the restraint he'd been lacking a few hours previously. Dumbledore stood and walked to one of his shelves, looking at it, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I might have expected many things from you, but never that you would resort to scuffling with another teacher. Have you any explanation, Severus?"

From anyone else, the question might have been laced with the implication that there _was_ no explanation, but Dumbledore seemed to make it sound as though he expected a very good one. "No," Severus said quietly, not elaborating. _Not unless you count the fact that for the first time in nearly twenty years I thought I could trust someone and enjoy her company, but found instead that she was as manipulative as anyone else I've ever met. Or perhaps you'd consider the fact that the man she decided had so much more to offer than I do is the man who you gave the job I have been wanting for years. Or, maybe it would have something to do with being played the fool in front of the entire student body while she led me around by the nose only to suddenly flit into his arms. Would any of those reasons suffice?_ There was no temptation to offer those explanations, though, only a scornful voice whispering in his head. _Jealousy, bitterness and pride. Such excellent reasons for putting a man who has risked so much for you in the precarious position of having to either dismiss you entirely or keep you on despite behavior that would have had students expelled._

Dumbledore sighed. "You know, if you and Jordan were students, I'd have every right to expel the both of you," he commented idly, and Severus instinctively blocked his thoughts. He didn't know if the Headmaster was probing into them—or what it really mattered if he was—but it never hurt to be safe with such regards. Of course, Severus couldn't really bring himself to believe that Albus Dumbledore needed to resort to legilimancy to tell what people were thinking; he had a century and a half of studying people to his credit.

"If I found students behaving so rashly, I'd be the one petitioning for their removal," Severus agreed quietly. "But we are not students."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, and a hint of the twinkle returned to those sapphire orbs. "No," he acquiesced, "you are not. So, the question is what to do with two teachers who apparently have not outgrown their schoolboy tendencies towards fisticuffs to resolve their differences."

Severus kept his face carefully blank and his tongue silent, though he wanted to protest. _Am I not allowed my fits of temper too? _he thought laconically. _Or is that a right reserved strictly for the women on staff?_

Dumbledore moved sedately to seat himself in a chair near Severus, and the potions master recoiled as the older wizard touched his shoulder. "There is little I feel I need say to you, Severus," he began, and Severus braced himself. He knew, realistically, that Dumbledore was probably the only person in the world who could make him regret something with nothing more than words. "You know that you have my trust, and you know that you have my concern. I do, however, wish that you find a more constructive way to release your frustration the next time. However much I would help you, you know that I cannot make many exceptions for you, lest I draw suspicion."

Severus had been stiffening steadily since the small speech was begun, and he jerked away from Dumbledore's touch. "What do you require of me, Headmaster?" he asked formally.

A small, rueful smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "An apology, Severus. I believe you owe one to Jordan Mickery, and to Aislinn Ichalia if no one else, though one to Minerva might not go amiss either."

Severus' mouth curled into a sneer. "And I suppose that you expect me to apologize in front of the entire student body, as well," he spat.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Severus, I would not require of you that which I do not know you are capable of giving. Letters will suffice, I think." The Headmaster reached idly to his desk and picked up a bowl of butterscotch candies, offering one to Severus, who took it though did not unwrap it. Dumbledore popped one into his own mouth. "Though," he continued, "from one man to another, you might consider more than a formal letter to Miss Ichalia. I believe that she was quite shocked, and somewhat disillusioned."

Severus snorted indifferently. "And what does she have to be shocked about?" _And why should I care anyway?_

"That, my boy, is a question for her. Not one for me." Dumbledore stood and gave Severus' shoulder one last preoccupied pat, then nodded at the door. "Now, if you will excuse me, Severus," he said, glancing at his watch, "I believe I have a bit more business to attend before the day begins in earnest.

Severus stood, accepting the dismissal with a grace that might have been distant enough to be offensive to anyone else and took his leave, his mind wavering between seething anger over having to apologize to that prick Jordan Mickery (the apology to Aislinn he couldn't have cared less about, and the one to Minerva would have likely come anyway the next time he saw her), and confusion over the last words Dumbledore had spoken. Yet again, he was left to wonder if the Headmaster somehow knew more than he did about the Divination teacher. _Of course he does,_ Severus chided himself, _just like he knows more about you than the rest of the staff does. _As he turned towards the dungeons, Severus noted with a slight sigh that it was a quarter to seven. Still better than three hours until his first class. As he entered his office, he was already mentally composing the unpleasant letter to Jordan Mickery.

"Your assignment for Tuesday," Severus told his Fourth-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students as the end of class drew nearer, "is a three-foot scroll on the properties of Unicorn horn and its uses in calming potions." The bell tolled, dismissing the class, and Severus paused for a few lengthy seconds to satisfy himself that they didn't dare move without his permission. When it was obvious that all were waiting, he nodded. "Class dismissed," he said, and the dungeon emptied quickly.

It was the last class of the day, so there were no students wandering in, which gave him an excellent opportunity to pen the apology he'd been stewing over for the past few hours. Seating himself, he took a fresh page of parchment from his desk, and uncapped his bottle of ink, picked up his quill and wrote the note in his careful, cramped handwriting.

Professor Mickery,

Please accept my apology for my actions yesterday afternoon. My reaction, however justified, was uncalled for. I do hope you will agree to put the incident in the past, for the sake of peace among the staff.

Respectfully,

Severus Snape.

Short, to the point and still managing a fair degree of arrogance. Severus knew that such an apology would not meet Dumbledore's standards, but he was also willing to wager that the Headmaster would not be demanding to see the letter; he wouldn't even do that to students, and would certainly show more faith in his faculty members. Severus was swirling his quill in alcohol when the doors to the dungeons opened.

"You do have a good reason to be down here, I hope?" he asked, his tone bored, without even looking up. There was no response to his question, but a rhythmic clicking that sounded faintly familiar. Severus, however, was not one to show his curiosity most of the time, and, in an exercise in self-restraint, he refrained from looking up to see who had entered. "Well?" he asked, finally capping the ink and moving the letter nonchalantly to the bottom of the stack of parchment. He glanced up and his mouth went dry suddenly.

"I was hoping you would be in a better mood today," Aislinn commented as she came to a halt in front of his desk. "I had a few things I wished to discuss with you, but I've little interest in seeing you lose your temper again." She reached to his desk and picked up a bottle of cloudy gray liquid, which she held up to the light as though divining the contents by staring at it. "Is it a bad time?" she asked, sparing him a glance.

He stood, towering over her for once as his desk was on a platform, and leaned forward to pluck the bottle from her fingertips. "Really, Miss Ichalia," he chided silkily, "I would have credited you a better memory than that. There are things in this classroom which are not toys, and most potions fall into that category."

She smiled disarmingly. "Most potions are," she said, her voice carrying an air of concession, "but as I remember it, one of the side effects of the Impervial Potion was that it made bits of flower bounce if you soaked the petals in it. We had a great deal of fun bouncing peonies all over the Gryffindor Common Room when Miriam Gandabar snuck a vial of it out of class with her."

Severus frowned. How did she know that was Impervial Potion? No one could tell by looking; it appeared identical to a number of other potions and even a Potions Master could not tell the difference between that particular mixture and a number of other, far less pleasant ones. Including a substantial number of poisons. "How did you—" he began, and she smiled, irritatingly.

"I'm the Divination Teacher," she whispered, dropping her voice to an airy and misty imitation of Sybil Trelawney that made Severus guffaw in spite of his determination not to humor Aislinn with a laugh. "Besides," she continued in a more normal voice, "my years away from Hogwarts did not diminish my ability to read." She nodded at him, and Severus glanced over his shoulder at the chalkboard, where the words "Impervial Potion" were written clearly with instructions for how to make it.

He cleared his throat to cover his shame over the blunder. "Well," he noted dryly, "I do hope you use more advanced methods for discerning the contents of bottles before you partake of their contents. After all, it was a risk to assume this bottle contained the potion noted on the board."

Aislinn frowned slightly. "And what was I risking, Professor Snape?" she asked softly, though her voice held little by way of challenge. "I had no intention of drinking it, nor throwing it against the wall, nor even dropping peonies into it to see if they still bounced as well as I remember them. What was I risking?"

A curtain of silence descended between them for a moment, and Severus studied the young woman carefully. What risk indeed. She finally cleared her throat. "Actually," she began, "I was hoping to talk to you about yesterday…"

Any trace of an improvement in his mood left Severus' face at this announcement and he sighed, suddenly remembering that he really didn't want to be discussing _anything_ with her. He'd managed to forget that during their little exchange. "Ah, yes," he replied softly, "I owe you an apology, don't I? Let's see…" He paused for a moment, making a great show of considering his words, blithely ignoring the narrowing of Aislinn's eyes. "I am supposed to apologize for… for what, precisely? For disarming your precious Jordan?"

Aislinn's nose twitched slightly, and her eyes darkened to a glittering indigo, nearly black, that would have challenged one of Severus' own dark glares. "You might well apologize for any number of things," she said icily, "but if you are not sincere, then please do not waste my time or your breath. I would like to believe we are old enough to not need the gratification of forced apologies." She folded her arms.

Severus moved from behind his desk, stepping down from the platform and coming to a halt at eye-level with her. Some part of his mind made the connection that since she was not taller than him, she was not wearing those deadly-looking spikes on her feet, which meant she could probably make a better and more graceful job of a hasty retreat than her last trip to the dungeon had awarded her. "And what, precisely, do I owe you an apology for?" he hissed, crossing his arms across his chest.

Something akin to anger flashed in her eyes. "My, Professor," she said mockingly, "how soon you forget. I, however, am in full possession of my memories, and I have a rather vivid memory of being called a bitch." She bit off the last word and then spun on her heels, apparently not waiting another second for him to apologize.

Severus was taken aback for a moment, and he tried to remember calling her anything of the sort. It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. "Aislinn, wait," he called at her quickly retreating back. "I do apologize for that. Really." He took a few steps towards her, but she did not stop. "Aislinn!" She still didn't stop. "Was that what you wanted to talk to me about? Aislinn!" In frustration, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

Nothing would have prepared him for her reaction, which was to spin around again, jerking away from him while delivering a solid slap to his face. The sound of it rang through the dungeons like a crack of a whip, and, shocked, Severus let go of her, touching his cheek. It didn't hurt so much as Jordan's punch had, but somehow, it was more painful by far. Made more painful by the woman who had delivered it.

Aislinn, however, seemed almost as surprised as he was. "I'm sorry," she whispered, suddenly hurrying back to him. "Let me see…" she reached up to his face, but he jerked away from her.

"Are we even, now?" he asked quietly, dropping his hand from his face and backing away from her. "Is that what you wanted? To lash out at me?"

She was shaking her head, taking a step towards him again. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Severus. It's just that you grabbed me, and…"

He waved her protestations away. "I deserved it," he said, his voice taking on a tone that most people would have found dangerous. "We'll leave it at that."

"No," she said quietly and insistently, "you did not deserve it, and we won't leave it at that."

"Oh, excellent," Severus hissed. "You intend to dismember me. I have always looked forward to…"

"Will you shut the hell up?" she asked suddenly, and he was taken aback. "I came to have a serious discussion with you, a talk I feel we need to have. Is there some vague possibility that you can keep your mouth shut for ten seconds at a time?"

"I don't know," he shot back, "is there some possibility you can keep you hands—and claws—to yourself for ten seconds?"

She folded her arms pointedly and glared. He glared back.

Finally, she dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. "Is there somewhere we can sit and have a calm, rational discussion?" she asked.

He snorted softly. "I can provide a setting," he told her, "but I'm afraid that calm and rational are up to you.:"


	17. The unexpected

Why, Egypt, if I didn't know better, I might think you were insinuating something about my sweet little Aislinn ;)

Thank you all for your reviews.

* * *

"I trust," Severus began, lifting one hand to gesture vaguely towards the back of the dungeons, "that your astounding memory remembers the way to my office?"

Something he couldn't identify flitted across Aislinn's face, then she nodded. "Of course," she replied, making a good show of light-heartedness. There was, however, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"Then, by all means." Severus took a step forward, one hand sweeping in front of him. She took his cue and walked a few steps in front of him to the door at the back of the classroom where his office was located, and then paused. He reached in front of her and opened the door, ushering her inside, and she stood just in the doorway, waiting on him. "Lumos," he breathed into the still and silent room, and candlelight flooded it, sparkling off the neat rows of jars and bottles that lined the bookshelves. She looked around slowly, and for an uncomfortable moment, Severus felt almost as though he were being stripped to the bones by her discerning gaze. "Please," he motioned towards a chair, "have a seat."

She took a couple of hesitant steps forward, then stopped abruptly and whirled to face him, her halt so sudden that he very nearly ran into her before catching himself. "Before we sit," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I want to get off my chest."

He barely had time to register her words before she stepped towards him and flung her arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He stood there, stiff as a board and shocked beyond measure, not really sure what to do next. It was certainly not the first hug he'd ever had, and likely not the fiercest, though he couldn't remember a more intense embrace, but it was the first hug he'd had in a good many years. For a long, awkward moment, he hadn't the slightest idea how to respond to it.

At length, though, he lifted his arms, and touched her back lightly before jerking his hands away from her, then touched her back again, finally snaking his arms around her as well. He was still stiff as a corpse, and patting her hair awkwardly, not sure what had brought any of this on, but she suddenly shifted her arms, and gathered him even closer somehow. And as she did that, he had little choice but to shift his own arms, and finally they were holding each other. He found his grip tightening about her, though he'd no conscious knowledge of doing it. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, and dropped one arm to his waist, the other braced across his shoulders, and finally, after long moments, he felt himself relaxing in her arms. For which he was rewarded with a brief squeeze so tight that it might have been uncomfortable had it lasted any length of time.

His disjointed patting of her hair had turned into a smoother gesture, his fingers twining themselves in the soft dark locks. He fumbled for a moment with the clasp holding her hair up, and released it, inhaling the soft, fresh scent that tumbled down with the gently curling waves, warm and slightly damp still. Closing his eyes, he relinquished the last of his defenses to her, and she began to rub her hand in a small circle on his back. The embrace seemed to last an eternity, and when she finally loosened her arms about him, he very nearly refused to let her go. He forced himself to, though, and took a step back from her, confused but oddly content. And left with something of a dull, happy ache that wished desperately for such contact once more.

She took his hands for a moment, squeezing both of them and smiling at him. "I've wanted to do that for a month," she confessed.

He could only nod and offer her a weak half-smile. "I… um… yes." He took a deep breath, trying to piece together his composure, and then offered the hair clasp he'd taken from her hair, not saying a word as she took it from him and then gathered the increasingly curling strands back and winding them gracefully back into a loose twist, which she secured with the clasp. It looked somehow less austere now, having been let down once, and wisps were already tightening into graceful, tight spirals. She seated herself in the chair he'd offered a moment before, and he cleared his throat softly, clearing his head as well. "What was it you wanted to discuss?" he asked softly, seating himself behind the desk, almost grateful to put a barrier between himself and her since he couldn't seem to convince his defenses to reconstruct themselves.

Aislinn suddenly took a deep interest in the backs of her hands. She took a deep breath, and Severus could almost feel her bracing herself for something unpleasant. The pause lengthened, and silence descended between them, awkward and uncomfortable for Severus at least after the fierce closeness of the embrace they'd shared only moments before.

"I…" she began, then stopped, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I probably shouldn't have done that," she said softly, as though almost to herself. Severus wanted to protest that he certainly did not regret her actions, and she could do it again any time she felt inclined. He didn't speak, though, but kept quiet and let her continue. "It makes it a bit more difficult to say what I need to say," she was continuing, and that made him frown slightly.

"Indeed," he said blandly, a sense of unease beginning to rise in his throat.

She took another deep breath, and he was afraid for a moment that she was going to wait another five minutes before speaking, but she seemed to be forcing herself onward. "I…I hope I'm not reading you wrong," she said quietly, then frowned. "Or maybe I hope I am," she speculated. "But, regardless, I want you to realize, Severus, that I have good intentions. For whatever that may be worth. And if I am wrong… I'd just rather be wrong but still have said it than right and not have said it, if that makes sense?"

He stared at her blankly. Sense? There was supposed to be something that made sense in that? He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No," he replied, "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

She sighed again, and took yet another deep breath. "I keep getting the impression that you have an interest in me that surpasses friendship or professional interest between colleagues," she said, the whole sentence coming out in such a rush that it took a moment for Severus' mind to catch up to her tongue. "I never meant to lead you to believe that I was trying to cultivate that interest," she was saying, and her words were beginning to sound hollow, distant, like the echo of bells ringing in the fog. "I only ever meant to encourage you as a friend, not one thing more." Understanding was beginning to shove its ugly head to break free from the confusion and numbness that was threatening to engulf him. "I know how it must look," she was saying, no longer looking at him, "but you have to believe me, I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted…" she faltered for a moment, then finished resolutely "I wanted to be your friend."

Well, Severus, this has to be a new level of rejection. Rejection from a woman you never even pursued. You held your tongue and kept your distance for fear of this very situation, and didn't avoid one unpleasant word of it. Congratulations. It was a dry, sardonic inner voice that held no mercy. He closed his eyes.

He must have held his eyes closed longer than he'd realized, or else the silence had begun to affect Aislinn the way it had him earlier, because he could hear her fidgeting. He could almost hear her mind working, looking for something to say.

"I…" she began, confirming his suspicions, "I hope that perhaps it isn't too much to hope that we might still be friends…" she suggested quietly.

Friends, he thought bitterly. Aloud, he sneered, "Of course. And perhaps when that prick Mickery is unavailable to siphon your attention, we can have tea and crumpets while you tell me how wonderful he is. Because that's what this is about, isn't it?"

Her silence was unreadable this time, and he looked at her. She was sitting perfectly still, breathing very slowly as though trying to restrain some sort of emotional outburst. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking slightly. "I'm afraid," she said quietly, "that you have you assumptions wrong. There is no more between Mickery and myself than there is between you and me. Which is to say nothing."

His sneer became more pronounced. "Ah," he whispered bitterly, "you're turning me down, despite the fact that I never proposed anything, for a man whose heart you can't even catch."

Aislinn's eyes flashed indignantly. "You are making some false assumptions," she told him tightly. "I have no interest in Jordan Mickery, not that it's really any of your business. I have no interest in _anyone_. The very last thing I need in my life right now is a man who thinks he owns me." Her statement was so blunt and forceful that Severus had no choice but to wonder if it mightn't be true. If it was true, though, he couldn't understand her motivations for even a moment. After all, he ached so desperately at times to find a complement to his soul that he couldn't even comprehend that anyone might legitimately not desire the same.

"Of course," he said with mock graciousness. "It is obvious from the way that you throw yourself at him that you've no desire to be anything but _friends_."

"The way I _throw_ myself at him?" Her voice was rising suddenly, in timber and volume. "What are you implying?" she demanded. "Are you saying that because I have a cup of cider with him that I'm beckoning him to my bed? Are you suggesting that a walk by the lake is an act of lustful desperation?"

"Are you telling me that when I find him with his arm around your waist that _that_ is an act of platonic friendship?" His voice was every bit as demanding as hers, and he could feel his own ire starting to rise. "Do not insult my intelligence," he spat.

Aislinn stared at him for a long moment, a quiet moment. When she did speak, her voice was hard and cold as ice. "I _did_ read you wrong," she hissed. "Very wrong indeed." And, having made that proclamation, she stood, and stalked out of his office without so much as another word to him, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the shelves.

"Well," Aislinn muttered to herself as she stalked her way out of the dungeons. "That is obviously what you get for trying to do the right thing." She didn't know why she was so angry, really, and she didn't know why she wasn't far angrier than she was. She had an inexplicable urge to cry, and she wanted to run to her rooms and pack her bags and leave on the next train that departed from Hogwarts. Or apparate herself to Brazil. Or the moon. The farther away, the better, she was convinced of it, and yet, at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to find a place to curl up and die in peace now that she'd finally managed to make a total ass of herself.

She stumbled her way blindly back to her rooms and pushed open the door, a great shuddering gasp wrenching itself from her throat as she collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor and leaning her head into her knees. _Why?_ she questioned herself ferociously, _why is it that you are forever running? Will you ever stop?_ She didn't have to answer herself; she knew the answer and had known it for years—she had not lied to Severus about not wanting to be in a relationship with anyone, because relationships were simply to excruciating. Love was a torture, a prison. Falling in love was a painful process of allowing herself to be so enraptured by someone else that she lost who she was, and became who he wanted her to be, and when he left, she was always left with nothing.

Her head was beginning to pound and spin, the room tilting dizzyingly about her, and she whimpered softly. She heard a distant knocking sound, and whispered a weak protest as her door opened, but she was only vaguely aware that someone was coming into her room, and then speaking to her. "It's just a headache," she managed to protest weakly, hoping that was an appropriate answer to the question she'd not been able to discern. "Just a headache."

A sensation of weightlessness ensued, and then a soft engulfing, and with an appreciative murmur, she recognized her bed, and rolled into the soft warmth of the blankets and sheets. She was aware of being moved, one way and then another, of cold air caressing her body suddenly, and then satin sheets slipping over her skin. And then a soft kiss on her forehead, and a murmur that sounded reassuring even if she could assign meaning to the sounds she knew for words.

She was alone then, and her eyes closed, her head pounding for a moment and then feeling as though it were being compressed in a clamp, and then that replaced with a disjointed, detached feeling followed by a sharp pain which faded into a pounding and the cycle began again. Eternity and seconds were meaningless to her as she lay there, and then she heard the door open again, and heard voices. She was lifted gently, and then there was a hand behind her head and a cup pressed against her lips.

"Drink." That she recognized as Severus' voice, his command, and she shook her head slightly and grimaced at the sloshing sensation in her brain.

"Just a headache," she protested softly.

"I know," came his voice again, seeming to drift far away from her. "But this will help ease the pain." There was a sensation of weightlessness again, and the once more the liquid touched her lips, and she sipped at the contents of the cup. He persisted, and sip by sip, drop by drop, the liquid—which she began to realize was wine—slithered into her mouth and down her throat. As she took the last sips, she was vaguely aware that there were at least four people in her room. Jordan was the one supporting her, and Poppy Pomfrey was the one holding the cup to her lips. Minerva sat on the side of her bed, holding one of her hands, and Severus stood at the foot of the bed, a vial in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

"All of you, out," Madame Pomfrey was ordering them all from the room, for which Aislinn was eternally grateful. She felt the pillow meet her head, and sighed softly as she sank into the satin softness, and murmured incoherently as blankets were drawn up around her. Minerva squeezed her hand again, and Jordan patted her face, and they were both gone. Severus was speaking to Madame Pomfrey, and she could hear only snatches of what he was saying.

"…doesn't like hospitals…has these headaches often…offered to make more potion…"

Poppy was nodding, studying her, and Aislinn closed her eyes, her childlike instincts taking over momentarily. _If I can't see you, you can't see me._

"Perhaps it would be wise…" she was saying, and Aislinn opened her eyes again.

She felt a pressure on her foot, and looked to the foot of the bed, where Severus was squeezing the toes of her left foot through the blankets. "Get some rest," he suggested quietly, then turned to leave.

I'm sorry, she directed the thought at him, futile though it was. As she closed her eyes and surrendered to the seductive arms of sleep—enhanced, no doubt, by something other than a painkiller in the wine—she found herself drifting away with the thought that despite his best efforts, Severus Snape was a good man.


	18. A precarious start

November 19

A good night's sleep, apparently, had been enough to mend Aislinn's headache, as she was in the staff room the following morning for the meeting. Severus was a bit surprised to see her come in, scooting in the door and seating herself only seconds before the clock chimed 6:00—the appointed time for the meeting to begin. He'd always marveled at her ability to cut time so close; he was either ten minutes early or late, but never _precisely_ on time as she almost always was. And, as Dumbledore began speaking as soon as the clock chimed, Severus noted that Aislinn had a quill and parchment out, taking notes, another astounding ability in his opinion.

As the meeting droned on, Severus found plenty of time to study Aislinn. After all, he knew the issues being brought up by heart. Teachers needed to be more conscientious about being in the corridors during passing periods. Aislinn's eyes were bright and clear, perhaps too bright and clear, in fact. He wondered why. Dumbledore was requesting that they all please ascertain that demerits were awarded only when deserved. Aislinn was studiously not looking at him, but then, she was also not looking at Jordan. Was that because she was avoiding eye contact with either of them, or was she simply engrossed in the meeting? She had half a page of notes already, but from his vantage point, Severus wouldn't have been sure if they were notes about the meeting or about the position of Venus or lines of poetry. Speaking of notes, Severus scrawled a note to himself, as did the other three Heads of Houses, when Dumbledore said he needed a count of the students who would be staying over the Christmas holidays.

As the usual business wound down to a close, one by one the other teachers began offering up their own concerns and complaints. Sometimes—often, in fact—these supposed 'staff meetings' turned into individual gripe sessions to which the entire staff was subjected. Just now, for instance, Flitwick was on about something that concerned no one in the room except himself and Dumbledore, and within seconds, there were signs that everyone was growing impatient. Severus shifted slightly, and watched as Aislinn began an absent-minded doodling on her parchment. He couldn't see precisely what she was drawing, or if she was drawing anything in particular, but just based on the way the end of her quill swirled and dipped, he thought it likely that she was making whorls of some sort. She was entirely oblivious to him, looking up at Dumbledore and Flitwick now and again, but mostly engrossed in her doodles.

When Flitwick and Dumbledore finally reached a decision on whatever it was they'd been talking about, Minerva piped in with a complaint that was, at least, more generally relevant, though Severus was sure it was aimed primarily at him. Favoritism, she was accusing, ran rampant through the corridors, and she for one was tired of seeing it. It was one thing for students to use that as a handy excuse, but when it was blatantly obvious… Severus tuned that lecture out entirely. Even if she was looking at Dumbledore with occasional glances to Madame Pomfrey, Severus had no doubt in his mind that she was speaking to him. _And you know as well as I do that there is a bloody good reason for me to show favoritism to the Slytherin students,_ he thought defensively. _Besides, how many members of the staff are quicker to take points from Slytherin, and slower to award them? Give it a rest._ Severus knew for a fact that his two and five points at a time were nothing to the fifty points at a time that McGonagall awarded to and docked from the students she watched most closely. How many times had Malfoy been docked twenty-five points for something absurd? How often had Potter and company been awarded fifty points for managing to not get killed despite breaking a rule? If she wanted to talk about favoritism, she could bloody well talk to herself.

With some degree of amusement, Severus noted that Aislinn was looking decidedly abashed. Could she possibly think that the little lecture was being directed at her? That was an intriguing possibility, though one that Severus dismissed out of hand. After all, he had noticed that she was responsible for close to half the points awarded to Slytherin that he did not award himself, though he wasn't sure there was a significant difference in how many she awarded the other houses. It was almost laughable, really. Aislinn Ichalia could completely stop dispensing points, and it likely wouldn't affect the House standings appreciably, though the students never seemed to notice that. He wondered idly if she realized it. _Probably,_ he conceded, _she isn't stupid, after all. She's very shrewd, in fact. Awarding all those points… no wonder the students respond so readily to her. She rewards them well, but as the rewards are so evenly dispensed, it's almost as though they don't exist._ Not really the sort of thing he would expect from a Gryffindor, usually. More something he would expect from Slytherin. And, a variation on his own technique. He awarded points to few people, and took them away almost dispassionately, and never enough to amount to anything anyway. The horror stories of Gryffindor losing fifty points at a time whenever they had Potions Class was a myth blown out of proportion. Severus could remember maybe ten days in the history of his career at Hogwarts when he'd affected any one House's points by fifty, in either direction.

When Minerva finally wound down from her soapbox, Severus breathed an indiscernible sigh of relief. Madame Pomfrey managed to get the next word in, and Severus did make notes of what she said. There was a rash of colds going around, apparently, and all teachers were asked to please send students to her as soon as it became obvious they had colds as she was tired of having to cure bronchitis because a student had spent three weeks sneezing and running a fever before deciding it was bad enough to seek help with. She also spoke directly to Severus, as though suddenly remembering something she'd been intending to talk to him about.

"I'm running low on a number of the potions I use for general aches and pains," she was telling him, "do you think you will have the opportunity to mix some of them if I give you a list, or shall I place an order?"

Severus frowned for a moment and considered. "Give me a list," he told her, "and I'll let you know whether I can accommodate you or not." She nodded, and Severus glanced at Aislinn, who had stopped doodling and was studying him rather intently. _Yes,_ he thought, _that goes for you too. Ask me, and I'll keep a supply of that on hand._ He didn't know, of course, whether she was considering asking him about the headache potion, but he liked to think she was. He liked the idea of her coming to him and meekly begging that he keep her supplied with something for the pains in her head. In fact, he liked the idea of being able to help with those headaches, whether she asked it or not, and he decided then and there to enlist Pomfrey's help in the matter. If anyone could insist that someone take better care of herself, it was the formidable school nurse.

Filch was piping up next, complaining about the dungbombs being set off in the corridors in the evenings. He was certain that it was Harry Potter, but Severus, as much as he wished he could lay the blame at Potter's feet, actually rather suspected a certain Hufflepuff. He closed out the remainder of that discussion and put his mind to an enticing fantasy about slipping something into Jordan Mickery's tea. Nothing truly harmful, of course, but something that would keep him, say, running to the bathroom all day would be amusing. It was not, of course, something Severus would actually _do_, but the idea was almost enough to make him smile. And almost enough to make him scowl. _And you're supposed to be a mature adult,_ he scolded himself, _not some misbehaving adolescent. Surely you've outgrown any affinity you ever had for pranks?_ As it happened, Severus had never really had much of an inclination towards pranks. Pranks, by definition, were anonymous acts of mischief, and Severus preferred to be recognized for what he did. And mischief wasn't really his style, either. If he were going to do something, it was usually for revenge, and revenge was sweeter by far if the person receiving was blatantly aware of it.

For another half hour, the meeting droned on, and finally, at 7:30, it adjourned. And not a moment too soon, if the reactions of Hooch and Sprout were any indication. After all, the meeting had lasted half an hour into breakfast, and those two were notorious for thinking they had to have their meals precisely on schedule. As Severus gathered his notes, though, a rumbling in his own stomach reminded him that he was hungry as well, and he wasted no time in getting to the Great Hall. No one did, in fact, except Aislinn and Jordan Mickery. Severus found himself reconsidering his stance on pranks.

* * *

Any thoughts Severus might have entertained about laxatives in teacups were cut short by his entrance to the Great Hall, where he found that in the absence of adult supervision, half a dozen Fifth Year students (four of them Slytherin, he noted with a certain degree of resignation) had found pleasure in levitating a terrified-looking First Year high above the teachers' table. Severus' long legs and determined stride had brought him to the Hall before any of the other teachers, so his was the singular pleasure of dealing with the vapid antics of students with too much time on their hands. With a grimace, the potions master backed out of the Great Hall again, retreating silently and unnoticed by students who were having entirely too much fun taunting the poor boy—or, in the case of a few brave souls, defending him—to notice that anyone had entered. Three of the teachers were approaching now, and he held up a hand to indicate that they shouldn't speak, and, while Sprout looked a bit put off, the rest of them stood back as Severus opened the doors again, this time with a _bang_ that echoed through the room.

Silence descended, and the First Year boy began a quick descent as well as the ones who had found it so amusing to elevate him seemed to forget it was a human their wands were holding up rather than a feather. Severus whipped out his wand and pointed it at the boy, shouting an incantation and catching him just before he hit the table. Holding him there, Severus closed his eyes and silently said a brief prayer of thanks to whichever was the deity that had kept the other boys from losing their concentration a second sooner.

Snape lowered the boy slowly to the ground, his dark eyes glittering angrily as he passed the Slytherin table, bestowing a frozen glare on the lot of them. "I hope," he said dangerously, "that there is a suitable explanation for this?" He shot a look at the First Year and sighed inwardly. A Hufflepuff, of course, and the two students involved in the stunt who were not Slytherin were Ravenclaws. Pity that he wouldn't have the chance to deduct points from Gryffindor in front of McGonagall's face for such an act.

"Well, Mr. Murphy?" Severus let his eyes settle on a black-haired, gray-eyed boy who was very nearly as tall as he was. "No explanation?" The boy shook his head, and Severus moved his gaze to pin another one to his seat. "Mr. Arnold?" Again there was no answer, and Severus moved his eyes to the next student, then the next and the next. None of them, it seemed, had an explanation. Draco Malfoy, however, had a smirk on his face that the Head of Slytherin itched to wipe away. "Mr. Malfoy?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping to a shade more deadly.

Draco smiled the smile of a boy who was confident he was safe from punishment, by virtue of his name. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, his voice the model of respect. Severus, however, was far from convinced. Draco Malfoy had picked up the worst of his father's habits, but fell somewhat short of the charm his father oozed. _That boy could learn a good bit from Lucius,_ Severus thought as he watched the Malfoy prodigy. _I'm not sure he doesn't have more to learn than I did._

There were few left at Hogwarts who realized it, but as a boy, Severus had been greatly influenced by Lucius Malfoy, who had a silken way of sweeping people along with him. Charismatic, charming, a natural leader who looked like a king even when he was on his knees at the Dark Lord's feet, Lucius had left a life-long impression on Severus. One that had begun long before Severus was in service to the Dark Lord.

"Severus?"  
  
**Oh no**, he thought, burying his head deeper into his pillow, **God, if you exist, please don't let that be...  
**  
If God existed, He apparently didn't have much sympathy for eleven-year-old boys who were crying into their pillows and praying that no one noticed. The mattress sank a little, and Severus stiffened as he felt a hand on his back. "What's wrong, Severus?"   
  
There was no mistake about it now, the smooth voice belonged to Lucius Malfoy, a Sixth-Year Prefect whom Severus admired greatly. Lucius had been quite kind to him since his arrival at Hogwarts, intervening when he was being teased relentlessly, taking a moment to show him the way to his classes, giving him a few words of advice on how to tell when the stairs were about to change so that he wouldn't be caught on the wrong floor of the wrong wing. If Severus had ever had an older brother, he imagined that it would have been something like having Lucius around. Severus, however, had not had an older brother, nor any brothers at all. He was an only child, which, while lonely was probably for the best. Severus had never wished for a brother or sister; he wouldn't inflict his family on anyone. Not even someone he hated.  
  
"Nothing," he whispered, trying valiantly to stop crying, but not quite able to muster it.  
  
There was a lengthy silence, and he might have thought that Lucius had left him to his misery, except that there was still a comforting hand on his back. It was the first time he had ever considered that someone might not be about to abandon him. Slowly, his tears began to subside, and, at length, he trusted himself to sit up, hoping that his eyes had dried sufficiently to not embarrass him further in front of the older boy. There was something in Severus that desperately wanted to please the Prefect, and something that screamed that being a bawling little baby was not the best way to go about that.  
  
As he lifted his head, though, his cheeks were still damp from the tears. "Dry your eyes," Lucius suggested calmly, offering him a linen handkerchief.  
  
Severus took the handkerchief, still trembling slightly, waiting for the older boy to start laughing at him. The laughter, however, never came. It would be several years before Severus understood that there came a point in a man's life where he realized that tears were not a reason to ridicule anyone, let alone an eleven-year-old boy. "Th-thank you," he hiccuped, complying with Lucius' suggestion, which, while polite had been firm.  
  
As Severus tended to his tear-streaked face, Lucius rose from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed and walked away, carefully studying a poster on the wall across the room, intently not noticing the younger boy's humiliation. That had been the first time that Severus had ever truly realized what kind of man he wanted to grow up to be. A man like Lucius Malfoy, calm and composed at all times, icily distant and indifferent, smoothly poised and coolly detached, yet always formally polite.   
  
Severus had grown up in a small, dirty flat, his father a drunkard, his mother desperately needy. He'd spent his short life trying not to anger his father, as that always ended disastrously. His mother, once a beautiful woman, was either unable or unwilling to defend Severus from his father, so he'd learned at an early age to take care with what he said and did in the man's presence. He'd learned to hide in his small, filthy room and to keep quiet, amusing himself by reading books that no child should have even had access to. He'd been like a little sponge, soaking up information, and he'd spent weeks on end with his father's wand, practicing illicitly. Of course he shouldn't have been doing any such thing, but no one in his family ever paid him much mind, and there was no one about to guide his interest away from the curses and hexes. Curses and hexes he'd always dreamed of being able to use on his father, as payment for the hellish life he lead.  
  
"Now," Lucius was speaking, and Severus looked at the handkerchief still clutched in his hands, frowning a bit at it. Was he supposed to give it back to Lucius? He certainly didn't think he would want a handkerchief back after some sniffling kid had snotted all over it, but... He folded it and set it on the bed so Lucius could make that determination for himself. "Tell me what is the matter, Severus?" This time, the Prefect's tone was firm and unyielding, and Severus had no more inclination to ignore him than he would have had to ignore the Headmaster.  
  
Still, he didn't really want to talk about it either. "It's stupid," he muttered under his breath, and Lucius laughed softly.  
  
"If you really thought that, it would not have upset you so," the older boy said reasonably, turning his head to one side, as though trying to find a better angle from which to consider the still-sniffling boy.  
  
Severus looked at the blanket on his bed, tracing a fold with his finger. He did think that it was stupid, and what was more, he was sure that Lucius would think it was stupid, and he felt stupid for letting it bother him... but one glance at that calm, aristocratic face told Severus that it would do no good to protest. Lucius had eyes like glaciers, and even at seventeen he had mastered an icy look that demanded obedience. It was why he made such a good Prefect; no one even wanted to cross Lucius Malfoy. "They... they just said..." Severus sighed heavily. "They said my da's a drunk," he admitted finally. "They said he's a worthless pile of rags."  
  
"Did they?" Lucius had stood again, and walked over to the window, moving the curtain aside. "And who are 'they', Severus?"  
  
Severus frowned and looked at his hands. "James Potter and Sirius Black," he replied quietly.  
  
Lucius had clasped his hands behind his back and was staring outside. "James Potter," Lucius repeated slowly, "and Sirius Black. Black, at least, might have some room to talk; he is, after all, a Pureblood at least. Potter, however..." Lucius clucked his tongue. "A mudblood, and a blood traitor. Why, Severus, do you let what they say bother you?"  
  
Black eyes glittered behind a fresh sheen of tears. "Because it's true," he whispered.  
  
Lucius turned around, a smile on his face that didn't warm his eyes. "And what has that to do with anything?" he asked. "Your father-and yes, Severus, I know who your father is-he had the potential to be anything he wanted. He squandered that potential, true enough, but what does that matter? Even the best orchard will sometimes bear rotten fruit." He was walking across the room again, and Severus' eyes followed him, as though attached with a string. "Whatever else he may be, though, your father is a Pureblood, as is your mother. And you, Severus, are not trapped by their erroneous and unfortunate decisions. They gave you a powerful gift, the only gift you need from them, and that, my boy, is a bloodline that reaches back before recorded time. You take that gift and never look back, Severus. You decide what you do with it, because it is your birthright, and that is something that the likes of James Potter will never be able to claim."  
  
Wide-eyed, Severus watched as Lucius came back to stand before his bed. He wanted to believe the pale-haired prefect, really he did, but it was hard. "But if everyone judges me by my father," he began, but Lucius raised a hand and cut him off.  
  
"They will not," he said firmly. "I will tell you something, Severus, if you promise not to spread it around." Severus nodded, awestruck at the grace with which Lucius moved, the finesse with which he spoke. "My own family," he said with a hard smile, "is not perfection incarnate to the beginning of time. Not two hundred years ago, the Malfoys were barely better than common peasants, the blood wasting away and all but spent. But my grandfather's great grandfather, who was the last of the line and the family's last hope, made it his goal to be better than the family dictated. He worked hard, Severus, and he was determined, and he kept the estates from falling to ruin, and he made himself worthy of marriage back into the blood, and he saw to it that his children, and grandchildren, were properly schooled and educated. By the time my grandfather was a student at Hogwarts, the Malfoy name was respected again, and no one dares suggest it was ever anything else now."  
  
Severus nodded slowly, understanding gleaming in his eyes, but it was an understanding entwined with doubt. "But I don't know how to..."  
  
"To what?" Lucius asked smoothly.  
  
**That's right, what is it you don't know how to do anyway?** Severus thought for a moment, then frowned a bit. "I don't know how to act and to... to talk right... and to..." he fumbled clumsily for words to express what he meant**. I don't know how to be like you.  
**  
Lucius, however, seemed to understand inherently what Severus could not say. "Well," he said, sounding as though he were contemplating, "I suppose that you really need just find someone to model yourself after. Someone you respect, and would like to be like. The Headmaster, perhaps?"  
  
There was a subtly sneering emphasis on 'Headmaster', and Severus bit his lip. He liked Dumbledore. Dumbledore was always nice to him, always had candy for the students, always made them laugh. Lucius, however, did not seem to be as fond of the Headmaster as Severus was. "No," he whispered hesitantly, half-asking, "I'm not sure that I want to be like Dumbledore."  
  
Lucius rewarded him with a smile; that, apparently, had been the right answer. "Hm. Perhaps Professor Flitwick, then?"  
  
Severus shook his head, immediately this time. "No," he said, more convinced.  
  
"Who would you choose, then?" Lucius asked, and Severus thought quickly, not wanting to sound like a pathetic little snit saying 'you, Lucius.'.  
  
"Maybe Professor Nicklin?" he suggested, and Lucius smile broadened. Nicklin was Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Head of Slytherin House.   
  
"Likely the best choice," he commented smoothly. "So, you keep your eye on Professor Nicklin," Lucius suggested, "and don't worry about what James Potter and Sirius Black say. I think the time will soon come when they will suffer the consequences of their actions. And when that day comes, Severus, you will find that you are the victor. Not they."

Lucius Malfoy had been instrumental in bringing most of the Slytherins to Voldemort's aid for at least a decade, and Severus had been included in that. After all, it was never Nicklin he'd modeled himself after, but Malfoy. There were very few indeed who remembered Severus Snape as the uneducated, terrified little brat he'd been his first year at Hogwarts; by his second year, he'd been making progress towards learning to talk and act like the admirable Lucius Malfoy. Severus was aware that Draco knew that his father held influence over Hogwarts in general and Slytherin in particular, but he wasn't sure if the youngest Malfoy had any idea how much influence Lucius had always had over the potions teacher, personally.

"Malfoy, why did you allow this to happen?" Severus' voice was smooth and silky, and he could tell by the look of doubt that flickered across the delicately boned face that his question had hit a nerve with Draco. _Possibly because I learned that tone and that calm from your father?_

"I had nothing to do with it, Sir. I was sitting right here the whole time. You can ask—"

"I don't need to ask," Severus replied evenly, "I want to know why it is that four Slytherin students were involved in a dangerous prank while a Sixth-Year Prefect sat at the table with them and did not so much as lift a finger to stop them."

By the time he'd made his way to the teachers' table, Severus had added another day to his tally of times he'd deducted more than fifty points from a single House in one day. He'd taken ten points from each of the Prefects present (and to his delight, found that meant that Gryffindor lost the most, fifty, as all six of their Prefects were there. Severus was uninterested in the fact that all had been part of the group trying variously to order the Slytherins down, to disarm them, and it had been a Gryffindor who went in search of the teachers.) His own house had lost forty points, though, which soured his mood slightly. After all, there had been two Slytherin Prefects present, and four Slytherins involved. Two Ravenclaws and four Ravenclaw prefects. The three Hufflepuff prefects, however, did not lose any points for inaction, as even Severus couldn't quite bring himself to deduct points from the victim's House when it was obvious that the Hufflepuffs had been outraged over the incident to begin with. He did, however, take five points from each of the Hufflepuff prefects for general ineffectiveness.

He made a biting comment about being unable to leave the students alone even for the time it took them to eat breakfast, and implied that perhaps the entire school should receive detention (not, of course, that he had any intention of actually doing that; the paperwork alone would be enough to deter him, and Dumbledore would never allow it. The rest of the staff would protest, of course, but Severus was feeling contrary enough by now to not be particularly concerned with any of them.)

Professor Sprout, of course, had been close on Severus' heels and awarded her own House thirty points for their lack of retaliation (Severus wasn't sure that was a behavior worth rewarding, but left the herbology teacher to her rat-killing) and Madame Pomfrey had fussed over the victim (who was crying and snuffling and carrying on until Severus thought his head was going to explode from the commotion) and McGonagall had glared at him for taking points from Gryffindor (and when it came right to it, he still thought that he was justified; after all, prefects should be able to keep the students out of trouble in the absence of teachers). And then, just as Severus finally made it to his place at the table, the doors to the Great Hall opened again and Dumbledore appeared, with Jordan Mickery and Aislinn Ichalia close on his heels, and McGonagall would have no delays in telling the Headmaster everything that had transpired. And, in short, Severus never did manage breakfast, which put him in an especially sour mood for the rest of the day.


	19. A no less precarious ending

By the time noon had rolled around, Severus had awarded a dozen detentions and made three students cry with his biting remarks, and one would have been hard-pressed to say who was more relieved that it was lunchtime—Professor Snape or his unfortunate students. Not desiring a repeat of the distractions at breakfast, Severus caught one of the House Elves and requested a meal be taken to the staff room for him, then made his way to that location, intending a solitary and quiet meal.

As he approached the staff room, though, Severus heard muffled voice inside, though there was a volume to them that suggested they were raised. He hesitated for a moment outside the door, deciding whether or not to intrude, and trying to discern who was in there and what was being discussed so loudly. It was little use, though, and had anyone passed, they might have found it decidedly odd that Professor Snape was standing outside the staff room with his ear to the door, eavesdropping for all intents and appearances. He could make out little beyond the fact that there were at least two people in the room, and one of them, he thought, was a woman.

"Please, stop it."

That was clear enough and distinct enough to make Severus frown slightly at the door. He was certain that voice belonged to Aislinn and…

"Jordan, _please!_ I've already told you…"

Severus didn't wait for another word, but flung the door open, allowing it to bang against the wall. He was half-expecting to find Aislinn trapped, tied up, pinned to the wall, something to indicate she was being held against her will. Fortunately for Mickery, though, and unfortunately for Severus' temper, the divination teacher was seated in a wingback chair and apparantly there of her own free will. At least, he could see nothing keeping her there if she didn't want to be there.

Mickery, however, was still being enough of a prick to make Severus' blood boil.

"What do you want, Snape?" he asked pointedly.

Severus walked into the room, leaving the door open. "I was hoping to have a meal away from the juvenile antics of adolescents who need to prove their virility by preying on those weaker, but I suppose I will have to settle for having that meal in the company of one instead of two hundred." He dropped into a chair near Aislinn and gave her a tight smile. "And how are you, Miss Ichalia?"

For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him, but she smiled instead. "Fine," she replied, her voice sounding strained though. "Just peachy." She stood abruptly and divided a glare between Severus and Jordan. "I do hope you two can manage not to kill each other. I seem to have lost my appetite. Excuse me." And she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her.

As soon as the door had clicked shut, Severus stood and stalked over to stand directly in front of the chair Mickery occupied, then leaned forward, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair. "I don't know what she was telling you to stop," he whispered dangerously, "but whatever it was, I hope you listened to her. It would behoove you to stay _away_ from her. If I so much as suspect that you are doing anything to harm her, you will rue the day you came to Hogwarts. Is that clear?"

Mickery, in the unfortunate position he was in, had little room to protest, but was stubbornly silent on the matter.

"Give me half a reason, Mickery," Severus hissed, "and that will be twice what I need. I already hate you, if you had somehow missed the fact, and if Aislinn—or anyone else—has to ask you twice not to do something, then you are hardly improving my opinion of you."

The door opened, and Severus straightened as a House Elf brought in a plate of food and a goblet of some sort of juice on a tray. Severus gestured towards the table in the middle of the room, and, after the tray had been deposited and the deliverer had bowed away, he settled himself to look at the food. Two thick slices of prime rib, an utterly unappetizing pile of carrots that looked overcooked and a pale yellow liquid that smelled suspiciously like punpkin juice—normally Severus would have chosen not to eat rather than consume suchpoor excuses for food, but hungry as he was he didn't find that he was overly picky. Even if the meat did turn out to be barely cooked and the punpkin juice exceptionally sweet. Hearing the door click to a shut behind him, Severus sighed with relief, finally alone in the room. He had no more than picked up his fork, it seemed, before he had cleaned his plate.

The rest of the afternoon went somewhat more smoothly, aided in part by the fact that Severus' stomach no longer felt liks an abused and hollow receptacle and in part by the fact that he had two of his NEWT classes today. NEWT classes were always somewhat more enjoyable than the pre-OWL classes, as those who continued with Potions beyond their fifth year were there by choice. And were talented students. Not, of couse, that the students found much comfort in that, as Severus simply raised his expectations of them, knowing now what they were capable of.

When the day finally ended, Severus spent a moment checking the contents of his cupboards, reviewing his lesson plans for the next day and glancing over the detention schedule. He had three detentions that evening, right after dinner, and knew just the task for them—the Third Years would be using blood from toad livers in their next potion, and extracting that blood was always time consuming. It should take the three students close to three hours to wring enough for the lesson. This decided, Severus swept into his office, intending a few moments' pleasurable reading before he went to the Great Hall for dinner.

* * *

It had been a bloody long day for Aislinn, not helped much by the fact that despite having gotten more sleep than she had in one night in years, she was still fighting to keep her eyes open. _Bloody man and his bloody potions,_ she thought irritably for the hundredth time as she stifled a yawn. _If I'd known there was a sleeping draught in that, I would have never taken it._ Her thoughts had a certain conviction to them, but she knew in the back of her mind that as badly as her head had been aching last night, she would have taken anything, including a deadly poison, if it meant the pain would cease. She supposed she really ought to talk to Madame Pomfrey about it, but she just couldn't bring herself to make time for it. That, at least, was her excuse, and a handy one at that.

As she pushed her way into the Great Hall, Aislinn frowned slightly for a moment, noticing first that Jordan was sitting in his usual place, his eyes fixed on her the moment she walked through the door. Aislinn was legendary in her inability to judge character; she was forever assuming people were good, when they were not always. Jordan, she was quickly deciding, was one of those she had given too much credit for kindness. He was increasingly irritating, a thorn in her side who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. _Rather like someone else you know?_ Asked a critical voice.

Ah, yes, just what she needed. A reminder that she was at the apex of a love triangle between two men whom she didn't love and didn't pretend to love and didn't want to love. And both seemed intent on ignoring the fact that she'd told them both very pointedly that she was uninterested. Men had a singularly annoying way of hearing what they wanted to hear, and while Jordan had heard that Aislinn was uninterested in Severus, and Severus had heard that she was uninterested in Jordan, she was not sure that either of the two was fully cognizant of the fact that she was uninterested in _either_ of them. And so they were constantly squaring off, like a pair of rams locking horns.

This afternoon, however, had been the first time that Jordan had not taken 'no' as an answer to anything that began with 'would you like to'. She'd had a bloody hard time convincing him that she really did _not_ want to go anywhere with him this weekend, least of all Paris, and, had Severus not banged into the room, Aislinn still wasn't sure if she would have won that particular argument. She had a bad habit of saying 'yes' so people would leave her alone, but she was loathe to admit that Severus had most likely rescued her from an interminably long weekend of batting away Jordan Mickery's affections.

Her eyes left Jordan and skipped to Severus' place at the table, and her frown returned momentarily. He wasn't there. That was quite odd indeed. In the three months she'd been at Hogwarts as a teacher, and in the seven years in which she was a student, she didn't think she could ever remember Severus Snape missing occasions in the Great Hall. He was always there, watching like a panther for misbhaving students, and, given the events of this morning when there were no teachers in the Great Hall during a meal, she doubted he would have abandoned the evening meal to the same fate. As she settled herself in her seat, engaging in a lively conversation with Flitwick so she could have an excuse to avoid talking to Jordan, Aislinn let her attention wander slightly to what was keeping Severus.

Only because it is unusual for him not to be here, she reminded herself quickly, as though protesting an accusation that no one had made that she had other reasons for wondering where he was. _That's it, Aislinn,_ she chided herself, _if you have no reason to look guilty, create one._ She finished her meal in relative silence, then headed back to her office, locking the door, for some much needed time alone with a stack of essays.

She lost herself in the explanations of outer planet transits through ruling houses, and before she realized what had happened, an hour's worth of sand had slipped through her glass. She paused for a moment, leaning back in her chair and stretching with her arms high above her head, her mouth stretched open wide in a hearty yawn. She heard laughter, and smiled to herself as she bent back to the paper she was marking, reading another six inches of it before her head popped up again and she frowned. _Laughter?_ She shouldn't be able to hear laughter from any of the Towers, and if she did, it would certainly be accompanied by more of a roar of general noise. She strained her ears and listened, and heard it again, and would have sworn that it originated from directly below her.

From the _dungeons_? Aislinn couldn't imagine what could be so amusing about the dungeons, but she _could_ imagine Severus' response if he found a gathering of students down there having fun. With a slight shudder, Aislinn decided it was time for a break, and she stood, smoothing her robes and heading out of her office. Her heeled shoes clicked loudly on the stone floor as she made her way down to the dungeons, and she stopped short, staring in confusion at the three students who were sitting on the floor outside Severus' office.

"What are you three doing down here?" she asked, resisting the urge to hiss furtively.

As one, they scrambled to their feet, and one of the students, a Fourth-Year Hufflepuff girl had the grace to look abashed. The other two, though, Fifth-Year boys from Gryffindor, were grinning jauntily, and Aislinn suspected it was just as well that she had interrupted whatever was going on. "We have detention, Professor," one of the boys said.

"Then where is Professor Snape?"

"Buggered if I know!" It was the other boy who spoke this time, and Aislinn had a hard time not laughing at the expression that crossed his face as he reailzed what he'd just said. His companion had obviously realized what he said as well, as he elbowed him in the ribs.

Aislinn cleared her throat softly. "I see," she said when she trusted herself not to laugh as she spoke. "Well, all of you, go back to you common rooms. I will tell Professor Snape that you were on time. I would suggest," she lifted her voice, capturing their attention again as they had been too busy exchanging triumphant looks for her to really believe that they were listening, "that you all be where he can find you. He might well just be running late and wish you to serve your detentions anyway. Off with you now."

They had all looked marginally deflated, but they left quickly. Even a delay in their punishment was, apparently, worthy of celebration. Aislinn was left to wonder if detentions with Severus were any different now than they had been ten years ago; she shuddered involuntarily at the memory of slicing bat brains for three hours for him. And, that raised another interesting question. Where was he? He hadn't been at dinner, and now was late for a detention he had assigned? Must unlike him indeed. Aislinn was beginning to grow worried.

She shoved the worry from her mind, though, telling herself that he was a grown man, and, if he had any sense he was probably in Hogsmeade getting drunk. She knew that if she were as lonely as he seemed to be, she would spend a great deal of time with a bottle of single malt whiskey, though somehow she couldn't quite imagine him getting that inebriated. Forcing herself to put it from her mind, she returned to her office and her stack of parchment.

Three hours and twenty papers later, she looked up and stretched again. It was nearly eleven now, which meant it was late enough to justify going to bed, so she swirled her quill in alcohol to cleanse the crimson ink from it, capped the jar of ink and set aside the papers. As she stood, she stretched lazily, clasping her hands high above her head and imagining a string that went through her head and spine which she gave a determined yank. The reward was instant as she stretched just a little higher, and then relaxed, feeling almost liquid. As she left her office, she whispered 'Nox' and the lights all flicked out.

She slipped back to her rooms and undressed quickly, crawling into her bed which seemed to embrace her as she sank into it. She closed her eyes, and sleep came quickly tonight, though it was a fitful sleep full of disturbing images that culminated in a pain so real that she sat up gasping, her heart pounding and her hair soaked from sweat. It took her a moment to convince her that it had been only a dream, and, as she settled again, it took longer for sleep to find her this time. It was once again fitful and dream-filled, but the images of violence were absent this time, replaced instead by a parade of half-formed pictures that were instantly replaced by a stream of even less well-formed visions.

The visions slowed, and she could finally see them, faces appearing one at a time. A stern-faced man with a hooked nose, a heavy jaw and a sneer that made Severus' face look friendly. That man faded and was replaced by a sad-face but pretty, delicately-boned woman with shining black hair and brilliantly green eyes. That image gave way to an elderly woman with sparkling eyes and laugh lines around her mouth. A blond child with his face turned trustingly upwards, hands reaching up as though to be held; an older child with eyes widened in horror; a golden-haired woman with eyes affixed in terror. One by one they appeared, but each faded, and Aislinn, even in her dream, didn't know who most of them were. Finally, there was a face that stayed, and one she recognized.

He was younger, his face less gaunt though still terribly thin, his eyes were intent and hard already, but they didn't have the weight of the years to them yet. He looked sad, and determined not to be sad, and Aislinn's heart ached for him. She watched as, before her eyes, he seemed to grow older and older, his face tightening around his skull until it looked like a rubber mask stretched over a skeleton. A fierce desolation crept into his eyes, his mouth seemed to be dragged down into the constant scowl she knew. He finally disappeared, as though she'd closed her eyes. He didn't reappear, though, but an oddly familiar room came into focus, and she was sitting in the middle of Severus' office, her hand clutched around a bottle of wine.

Aislinn's eyes sprang open, and she looked around, assuring herself that she was still in her own rooms. Slowly, she pulled herself out of bed, sleep still threatening to pull her back into the lingering warmth of her blankets, but she shrugged into a dressing gown of black velvet embroidered with scrolls of gold and crimson. She shoved her feet into slippers, and groped along the wall for her door. _It was probably just a dream_ she was telling herself as her hand found the doorknob, _but you know you won't have another moment of sleep tonight until you know for sure._

She stumbled through the dark corridors and made her way down flights of stairs, cutting a direct path to the dungeons. As she stood at the top of the stairs to the dungeon, she noted with a sinking heart that there was, indeed, a light burning down there, casting a faintly golden glow on the stone walls and floors. _I wish I'd checked the time,_ she thought idly as she hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to go on to Severus' office. She was concerned about him, that he'd disappeared all evening and now, if her dream was correct, was working on a neat hangover courtesy of cabernet sauvignon. She was also maringally respectful of the fact that he wsan't likely to appreciate an intrusion, and, in all honesty, she was frightened of what sort of drunk he might be, and simultaneously curious as to where he'd been and why he was so hell-bent on forgetting now.

At length, Gryffindor courage (or stupidity or curiosity as the case may be) won out of the swirl of emotions in her heart, and she found herself edging into the dungeons, growing more awake and alert with every step. When she reached the bottom stair, she noted that the door to his office stood slightly ajar, and light was spilling out of it. With a glance over her shoulder and a fervent wish that she hadn't left her wand behind, she approached the door and pushed it open. And gasped at what she saw.

* * *

A/N:

Okay, I thought I'd take a moment to respond to a few things I've seen in the reviews.

First, regarding astrology. I am an astrologer, actually, and that was how I came up with the idea for this story. I had a few free hours one afternoon and in a fit of boredom drew up star charts for a few of the HP characters. Snape, and Harry, incidentally, were the only two characters I was truly confident in, as they are the two most developed characters in the novels. I find that rather interesting, as Snape really has a relatively small part in the novels (as compared to say Ron Weasley and Hermione, and even Dumbledore or Malfoy or the Dursleys) but Snape is possibly **the **_most developed character in the series._

I don't know whether Ms. Rowling is an astrologer or not, but I've seen indications in the books that she knows something of the subject, and, if she did use charts for the characters, I think the one for Snape would be very similar to the one I drew up. And, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she did use this tactic, actually. It's a way to get very real characters, with lots of depth.

So, anyway, I drew up this chart, but didn't know what to do with it. As it turned out, though, the chart told me. In drawing on my own astrology experience (including the reaction I've gotten from people about astrology and how 'stupid' and 'unscientific' it is, I realized that Snape would probably be a skeptic (remember his opening potions speech about the 'subtle science and exact art of potion making', and contrast that to McGonagall's assertion that divination is an imprecise study at best.) and I couldn't help but grin. I've made believers out of a skeptic or two, and I thought it would be a lot of fun to see Snape warming up to a divination teacher who is **not** a crackpot like Trelawney. So, thus the story idea was born.

Aislinn (that's pronounced "Ash-lin", incidentally, it's a derivitive of 'Aisling', an Irish Gaelic name meaning 'dream' or 'vision'.) Is a character based in part on myself, and in part on a dear friend I have, and part pure fiction. The bit with her changing her name came from my friend, without a doubt, and the explanation behind it was almost verbatim from this friend (who changed her name because she felt trapped by it and unfortunate that she'd had no say in such an important factor in her life, and she didn't think her name suited her, and it was the most liberating experience she'd ever had…) This friend and I are both exceptionally tall (six feet) so that characteristic was a shoo-in. I love the reaction I get from guys when they realize they're eye-level with my lips, and I'll admit to wearing three-inch heels and laughing it up as I hold important reports over my boss' head and make him jump for them.

Aislinn is actually a bit more complex than she seems so far, but I'm not going to reveal how just yet. Or rather, I've already written that chapter, and am trying to bridge the gap to the point where I can use it.

Snape I'm afraid I'm not in agreement with those who portray him as a brooding but handsomely aristocratic charming man who chooses his life of isolation. I'm trying very hard not to romanticize him, while still giving him emotions. That is actually a true part of the chart interpretation I did for him before starting this story—I believe he is Capricorn, which is a sign that has a great deal of restraint. He has a sharp wit, I believe, just not the kind that everyone in the world would find humorous. And, as I think I said somewhere once before in authors notes, I think he is bitter not because he does not have the capacity to feel, but because he feels so deeply and has had to consturuct defenses to shield himself from pain. This is very common with people who have great depth of feeling—an appropriate analogy is the crab, without a hardened shell, it would be so vulnerable that it could not survive the dangers of the sea.

Now, many people who know something of astrology would ask why he isn't Scorpio, because he seems classic Scorpio so often, and my response to that is that it's entirely right. He **seems** to be Scorpio, though Harry Potter's eyes. Biting, cunning, secretive and vengeful. The fact that this is how Harry sees him suggests that is his rising sign rather than his sun sign (the rising sign controls a person's personality, as opposed to who they **are**). As a Slytherin, thouh, and as a very demanding Potions Master, and as a man who became a teacher early in his life (and trust me, 22 is young for a teacher. I tried that. It was bloody hard to separate myself from my students when I only had four years on them. They were freshmen when I was a senior, and it would be even worse with Snape. He began teaching at the age of 22, which is four years after graduating from Hogwarts, which indicates that the first two or three years of his career, he was very likely teaching his former classmates. Awkward, yes?) Capricorn is also very ambitious, which sounds a lot like a certain Professor (Order of Merlin, anyone?).

Incidentally, because I thought that Scorpio was rising, and because I assumed Snape was born in England, I found that the midheaven landed conveniently in Leo. The midheaven controls the career, and a Leo Midheaven is one of the traditional indicators of a teacher, and it is also a position that insists on recognition. ("'This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,' said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, 'but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times.')

So, anyway, enough astro-analysis. I'm actually intending a chapter or two of it later on in the fic.

Finally, direction. I hope none of you are reading in hopes of some sappy Hollywood ending. If you are, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I'm only borrowing Snape, after all, and I have every intention of leaving him largely as I found him. :ends vague discussion of the end:


	20. The Fool

"Severus?"

Aislinn slipped carefully into his office, sidestepping a pile of broken glass by the door. She squinted down at the glittering mass, and her eyes picked out a rod about as big around as a pencil, and a neatly curving disc that had been broken in half. The rest of the glass was little more than shards, but that was enough to tell her that Severus had not been drinking directly from the bottle for the entire time he'd been sitting there.

Her attention didn't linger long on the broken glass, though, as it was the Potions professor who had drawn the gasp from her to begin with. He was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, staring unseeing into the flames, slouched in the chair. He looked worse than usual, if that was possible; his hair hung limply in his face, which was smudged with soot, and a nasty cut by his right eye was beginning to crust with a suspicious-looking combination of blood, puss and dirt. His eyes were bloodshot, but wide open, rimmed in red, though there were no streaks in the soot on his face, so she deducted that the redness had not been brought on by tears. She wsn't sure if she was relieved or not on that point. His robes were filthy, even the black cloth showing traces of mud, stiffening in places with blood. _So much blood,_ she noted distantly. _How much of it is yours, Severus Snape? _She approached him carefully, much the way she would a wild animal, and knelt beside him, a few feet away.

"Severus?" she asked again, but he didn't so much as move. On the floor beside him were three empty bottles, and in his right hand, dangling from the arm of the chair, he clutched a fourth bottle which appeared to be half-empty already. Aislinn shuddered involuntarily at how much alcohol he had already consumed. The knuckles on his right hand were white, as though he were clutching the bottle tightly, and she wondered if he was really so oblivious to her as she had thought he was. Her heart was thudding more loudly now, as though it were trying to pound its way into her throat.

"Severus!" Her voice was more firm this time, and she was rewarded by a brief flick of his eyes in her direction, though the sense of accomplishment was somewhat diminished by the terrifyingly hollow expression on his face. "Why don't you give me that bottle?" she suggested, edging towards him slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his. "And then let's go find a nice, warm bed. You're very tired, aren't you, Severus?"

She lifted a hand slowly, and touched the bottle in his hand. Surprisingly, he relinquished his hold on it easily, and she set it aside. "Come on, now," she whispered, sliding her hand into his and lacing her fingers through his. His fingers curled around her, almost instinctively, and she edged a little closer. "Come on," she repeated firmly, tugging gently on his hand. He stood unsteadily, and she stood as well, moving closer to him, drawing his arm around her shoulders and bracing her own arm across his waist. "Slowly," she said softly, guiding him to take a shaking step, then another. "Watch the glass," she advised as they neared the door.

Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way out of his office, Aislinn whispering 'Nox' into the room and the lights all blinking out and cloaking the dungeons in utter darkness again.

"What time ish it?" His words, though slurred, were a relief and Aislinn squeezed his hand gently.

"Late," she whispered, steering him towards the stairs. "Do you think you can make it up?"

His head jerked back and he seemed to have a hard time concentrating on the stairs, but he nodded. Aislinn watched doubtfully, but positioned him so he was trapped between her and the wall. "All right, then," she directed, "step up. Good. And again…" It was apainstakingly slow process of getting up the stairs, one step at a time, each time Severus wavering on the brink of falling over. Aislinn wasn't sure she could do anything about it if he did decide to fall backward, so she kept their pace slow and meticulous, prompting him to step up again and again. _Just one step at a time,_ she thought determinedly. _Don't worry about what's ahead or what behind, just one step at a time._ When they finally reached the ground floor, Aislinn directed him to lean against a wall, keeping her arm firmly about his waist as he seemed to show an inclination to slide down that wall. _Oh, no you don't,_ she thought firmly, _if you stop now, I'll never get you a step farther. I can't bloody well carry you. On we go again._

They wound through the corridors, and, after a moment, it became painfully obvious that taking him to his own quarters was out of the question. Which was likely just as well considering the state of that cut on his head. "Let's get you to the hospital wing," she muttered, half under her breath, not really talking to him so much as herself. To her surprise, though, he saw fit to answer with a resounding and frightful bit of stubbornness.

"No!" he hissed, "No hoshpital. No."

"Severus," she said reasonably, "you're injured. Madame Pomfrey needs to tend that cut and…"

"NO!" he nearly shouted that time and jerked away from her, sumbling dangerously close to a staircase. Aislinn grabbed for his arm again and pulled him back to the middle of the corridor.

"All right!" she hissed, "no hospital wing. Have it your way!" _I'll just find Pomfrey and bring her to you, wherever we end up putting you. And where is that going to be, anyway?_

She spent a moment thinking, and noticed that he was leaning more heavily on her. She didn't think she'd have the energy to go very far with him. _Well,_ she thought idly, _I guess the options are a classroom, the staffroom, or my own rooms._ A classroom, really, was out of the question. She didn't know how long it would take him to recover, nor did she know what time it was, but she was afraid it would be morning before he was ready to move again once he was allowed to settle somewhere. The staff room was a better option, but there was nowhere for him to lie comfortably in there. _Not that it would likely matter to him if he spent the night in a chair,_ she thought as his head lolled to once side. Her rooms were farther away than any of the previous options, and for a moment, she considered the hospital wing again. If she didn't tell him that's where they were going, there was a good chance that he wouldn't realize it until morning. If he realized it then.

"No hoshpital," he said again, quietly but firmly, causing Aislinn to look critically at him. _And are you reading my mind, Severus Snape?_ she asked him silently.

"No," she conceded, "no hospital." Even if it would be convenient and he wouldn't know about it right away, he would certainly deduct it soon enough and she had no real desire to betray his trust over something so trivial. "Come on," she sighed, steering him towards her rooms, "you can sleep in my room tonight."

When they finally reached Aislinn's rooms, she was out of breath, but, she noted with a degree of interest, it wasn't even one am yet. She considered dropping him on her couch in her sitting room, but decided with a sigh that he'd really be less in the way in her bedroom. And less inclined to notice when she slipped out to get Pomfrey and Dumbledore in a few minutes. She guided him into the bedroom and looked around, not really wanting to drop him on her bed given how filthy he was. She maneuvered him to a plain wooden chair that normally she only used as a makeshift table and settled him into it, taking a minute to assure herself that he wasn't going to topple out. When she thought he was planted securely in it, she slipped into her bathroom and found a cloth which she wet with warm water and a couple of towels. She settled herself on her knees in front of him. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, all right?" she whispered, taking his face firmly in her left hand and dabbing gently at the cut with her right hand. He drew in his breath sharply as she touched it, but he did nothing else to indicate that he even knew she was there, and, when she'd managed to clean it as best she could, she noted with some relief that it wasn't as bad as she'd thought at first.

She gave his hand a soft pat, then slipped back into her bathroom to wet the cloth again, and to find three more cloths, which she also doused; given the filth the first one had cleaned off him, she had a feeling it was either use several cloths or make repeated trips to rinse of the one. When she touched him again, his eyes flung open, and he stared at her with a wild look in his eyes for a moment, then seemed to calm again. She hummed softly and nervously as she dabbed at the soot and dirt and blood on his face, gently massaging a few strands of his hair where a clot of blood had dried and matted. When she was satisfied that his face was as clean as she wsa going to get it without actually dropping him in the bathtub, she moved to his hands, which were the only other skin visible outside of his robes. She scrubbed each of his fingers and his palms carefully, stealing a glance at his face every so often. He seemed to be asleep.

Once his hands were clean, she carefully lifted a foot and eased off one of his boots, then the other. She set the boots aside, and stood, loosening his robe and pulling it free as well. To her relief, the worst of the filth seemed to be on the robe, and after a cursory glance, she decided he could remain dressed the rest of the way until he was in the bed. "Come on, Severus," she whispered softly, taking his hands again. His eyes drifted open, and she noted that they seemed more focused this time. "Let's get you into the bed, hm?" She braced herself to practically lift him from the chair, but found that he helped her quite a bit. "There you go," she said softly, approvingly, as she directed him towards the bed. Once he was seated there, and before he had the chance to fall back into it, she relieved him of his shirt, unbuttoning it enough that she could pull it off over his head. She tossed it to the floor with the sodden robe. "All right," she whispered, "you can lie down now." She put a hand behind his head, supporting his neck as she lowered him onto the bed. "And I'm just going to take your trousers, and then I'll leave you alone, all right?" she whispered.

Her hands moved to his waist to unbutton the trousers, and she felt a hand close around her wrist. She gasped, and looked up at him. His eyes were barely open, but he seemed to be making an effort to focus on her. "Leave them," he said softly.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if I…"

He still had her wrist in his hand, though, and he shook his head slightly. "Thank you," he whispered.

Aislinn nodded in consent, and moved her hands to his knees instead. "All right," she said softly, "let's just get you under the blankets then. There we are…" she tucked the sheet and blanket under his chin and smiled at him. His eyes were closed again, and his breathing was already turning slow and even. She couldn't help moving a stray strand of hair from his face, smoothing it back from his eyes as he lay there, and, she leaned down to touch her lips softly to his temple, then shook her head slightly. _What have you been up to?_ she wondered, shaking her head and moving off to pick up the mess she'd made tending to him.

Once she'd tidied up a bit, it was 1:30, and Aislinn was yawning, but she still had to fetch Pomfrey and Dumbledore before she could call it a night and…

"Please…"

Aislinn looked over to the bed, where Severus was tossing his head back and forth on the pillow, an occasional moan escaping his lips. She moved over to the bedside and sat on the edge of the mattress, smoothing his hair from his face again. "Shhh…" she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's just a dream. It can't hurt you," she said softly. That, she knew, was utter nonsense; dreams _could_ hurt, but it sounded more comforting to tell him they could not. After a moment, he fell silent and still again, and Aislinn rose slowly, quietly stepping away from him. She had her hand on the door when she heard a whisper from the direction of the bed.

"Don't go."

She turned to look at him again, and to her surprise, found his eyes open and focused on her. "I'm just going to get Madame Pomfrey to look at your head," she said softly.

"It's just a scratch," he whispered. "Please, Aislinn?"

She hesitated, then nodded and moved back to the bed. "All right," she conceded, sitting beside him. "I'm here. Go to sleep now," she whispered, and he closed his eyes obediently.

Note to self, she thought cynically,_ if you want him to cooperate, saturate him with wine first._ She settled down beside him, her arm draped across him. _I'll just stay until he goes to sleep,_ she thought, and concentrated on his breathing, waiting for it to fall into the steady rhythm of slumber. She never head it settle to that rhythm, though, as she fell asleep before he did.

hr

Aislinn woke with a start, and nearly screamed when she realized there was someone in her bed, but caught herself just in time. _Severus. Why…?_ She frowned at the fact that she was lying on top of the blankets while he was under them. His head was cradled in the crook of her arm, and she glanced at the clock. Five o'clock. She slowly disentangled herself from him, leaving him sleeping peacefully. He snored softly, and she nearly fainted; his breath was enough to pickle a pumpkin! What on earth…? Slowly, the midnight trip to the dungeons and the process of bringing him back to her rooms came back to her, and, with a start, she remembered his head. She peered intently at the cut, and grimaced at it; it was an angry red now, and crusted slightly and still oozing. Madame Pomfrey needed to look at that…

Madame Pomfrey! And Dumbledore. She'd been intending to wait until he fell asleep, then summon those two. With another look at the sleeping form of Severus, and a self conscious hand forked through her hair, she straightened her dressing gown (which she was thankful to notice was still wrapped tightly around her). She stood slowly, and slipped out of her rooms, making her way carefully to the hospital wing. When she arrived, Pomfrey was already there, checking on one of the students, and Aislinn wondered idly how early the Mediwitch rose in the mornings to be looking so settled already. She cleared her throat softly, and caught Pomfrey's eye, and the older witch came bustling over.

"My dear, you look positively ill. Are you all right? Do you have a headache again?"

Aislinn waved away the concern and interrupted her. "It isn't me," she insisted, "it's Severus. He's injured. He's in my room right now and… NO!" The look that had flickered across Poppy's face was enough to make Aislinn protest. "It's nothing like that! I just… he… Oh, bloody hell. He has a cut on his head and I think it's infected and…" she trailed off again. "WILL YOU STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!" With a huff, she whirled away from the nurse whose knowing look had turned into a bewildered one. "My door is unlocked," Aislinn whispered, "I'm going to talke to the Headmaster. Excuse me."

Fifteen minutes, Aislinn returned to her rooms, Dumbledore behind her, and found Madame Pomfrey administering something to Severus' forehead. Something which caused him to wince repeatedly. Aislinn had told Dumbledore about finding Severus in his office, obviously incapacitated (she left out the detail that he was so drunk he'd barely been able to stand) and that she'd brought him to her rooms to sleep (including the explanation of why she'd not taken him to the hospital wing. She'd explained that she had intended to alert him immediately, but had fallen asleep (neglecting to mention that Severus had asked her to stay with him, and therefore skipping the entire matter of dreams, both Severus' and her own.) Dumbledore, for his part, had nodded thoughtfully, but she didn't think he was fooled for a moment by what she'd left out of her story.

A look passed between Severus and Dumbledore, and there was a palpable tension in the air suddenly. "Poppy," Dumbledore was saying, "could I convince you to allow Aislinn the use of your rooms while she gets ready for the day? I would like to have a few words with Severus, and he doesn't appear in the condition to move anywhere just yet. Don't worry, Aislinn, I'll see to it that he makes it to his own rooms during the day." Aislinn nearly protested, but ended up nodding instead.

"Of course," she said softly, and moved herself to her wardrobe and gathered the things she would need for the day. Poppy led her through the corridors of the castle and to a room near the Hospital Wing.

"You'll find towels in the cupboard, there," she pointed. "When you're finished, just leave them on the rack in the shower, and I'll take care of them."

Aislinn nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, her mind still on Severus. A hand on her arm startled her slightly.

"I didn't mean to imply anything earlier," the nurse was saying quietly, "I'm sorry. Even if I did suspect something, there was no reason for me to act like I did."

Aislinn shrugged uncomfortably. "Don't give it another thought," she insisted, then stepped into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

hr

By the time second period rolled around, it was hardly a surprise that the entire student body seemed to be buzzing with speculation abou what precisely was wrong with Professor Snape. Aislinn had heard a number of theories by the time her second class came trudging in, though none of them, fortunately, were even vaguely resembling of the truth. _But then,_ she thought with a touch of humor, _who would expect that the dour professor is in my personal rooms sleeping off what seems to have been quite a wild night for him?_ Aislinn couldn't deny that she was curious as to how Severus came to be in the condition he was in, but she certainly wasn't revealing to the students that she knew anything more than they did.

Which, she noted cynically, didn't seem to deter them from asking.

"Professor?"

Aislinn finished with her roll sheet and looked up. "Yes, Mr. Arnold?" she asked.

"Do you know what happened to Snape? He's _never_ missed a potions class before."

Aislinn folded her arms and leaned against her desk, watching the young man who'd spoken. _You see, he's sleeping off the after effects of a neat little hangover. Quite a stunning tolerance for wine, really. Wouldn't have expected it of him. Hell, I bet that three and a half bottles of wine would even put old McGonagall under the table and she could drink a fish to shame._ She allowed a hint of a smile to touch her lips. "That," she said aloud, "is a question for _Professor_ Snape," she said, placing an emphasis on 'Professor' as a subtle reminder that students had no business referring to their teachers so disrespectfully.

"But Professor," this time it was a Ravenclaw girl speaking up. "Is he all right? I heard that he was in a coma!"

Aislinn raised an eyebrow. "Then I would encourage you to carefully consider the source of you information," she suggested. "Now, if there are no more questions about Professor Snape…?" She meant it as sarcasm, but another hand came up. Sighing softly, she pointed with her wand. "Yes, Miss Mitchell?"

"When will he be back?" the girl asked and Aislinn snorted softly.

"Really, all of you, I'm sure Professor Snape will be touched to discover his students are so concerned about him, but this is not the time for it. If you want to write him a get well card, I will see it delivered to him." There was a twitter through the class that made Aislinn's eyes widen a fraction. "Is there something amusing about that?" she asked, but no one offered her an answer. She pushed herself away from her desk and walked slowly across the room, leaning against the wall. "Well?" she asked, "I'm waiting. Why is the idea of writing Professor Snape a get well card so funny?"

Students were looking at each other, and then finally one girl offered, "Because he's Professor _Snape_! I mean, he'd probably give us detentions for it!"

Aislinn lifted an eyebrow. "You think so, do you? I'd like to offer you all a reminder. Contrary to what seems to be popular opinion among the students, I can assure you all that Professor Snape _is_, in fact, a human, and most humans appreciate evidence that others care about them. Just keep that in mind. Whether you write him a card or not." She walked back to the front of the class and cleared her throat and her mind.

"Today," she began her lesson, "we will start with a new unit. Tarot. Now, who has read the assignment and can tell me the first card of the Major Arcana?"

Four hands shot into the air, and Aislinn picked a Hufflepuff. "The Fool ," he replied promptly.

The Fool. How many of us are fools? she wondered quietly.


	21. The morning after

Once, there was a man who almost got what he wanted. Severus sighed softly as he watched Aislinn walk from the room, her robes and toiletries clutched in her arms. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so peacefully as he had last night, and while the cynic in him insisted it was because of the wine (which, incidentally, had done nothing to erase his memory, it seemed) there was a less familiar voice that suggested it had been the woman who had been curled up beside him, her arms around him. He hadn't slept in anyone's arms since he was a small child and his mother had comforted him when he had nightmares.

She was gone, though, and if he was being allowed to linger in her bed for a few moments, Severus didn't think that the price would come cheap. As it happened, he was right. As soon as the two women had left the room, Dumbledore closed the door and Severus heard the lock slip firmly into place, wishing he could at least have had until the afternoon before he had to report on all this. At least until his head stopped pounding. _And whose fault is it that your head is pounding?_

Dumbledore walked to the bedside and, with a wave of his wand, conjured a comfortably padded chair covered in chintz. Sinking into it, the older wizard watched silently for a moment, and Severus met his silence with silence of his own.

"That's a vicious-looking cut you have, my boy." It was Dumbledore who broke the silence.

Severus lifted a hand to his head and winced. "In all honesty, I didn't even realize it was there until Aislinn started trying to clean it," he replied truthfully.

Dumbledore nodded. "It must have been quite a night for you not to have noticed it."

"Yes, it was that." Severus closed his eyes for a moment, but was only rewarded by images he didn't particularly want to see again, so he opened his eyes again and focused his attention instead on a painting on the wall.

"When were you summoned?" It didn't surprise Severus for a moment that Dumbledore knew.

"Not long after classes ended. I left immediately."

"And what did Voldemort want from you this time?"

If Severus winced at hearing that name, it was a brief reaction. A reaction quickly replaced by a sneer. "Proof of my loyalty," he said softly. "It seems I have found excuses too often of late." And he had. Legitimate excuses, of course, but excuses. The Dark Lord did not care that he could not Disapparate from the middle of a Potions class. The Dark Lord was not interested in term finals.

"I see. So this time…"

"This time he chose a time when I could make no excuses. After classes, before dinner. At a time that was uniquely mine to spend as I wished, and the Dark Lord wanted proof I wished to spend it in his service. I traveled by Floo Powder to Knockturn Alley, then Apparated to his side." Severus twitched involuntarily. "Even the small delay of a detour to Knockturn Alley was apparently too much to tolerate."

Dumbledore looked as though he were going to ask something more, but seemed to change his mind. A fact for which Severus was most grateful, as he had no desire to relive the pain of _Cruciatus _through the telling of that story. "And can you tell me what he required of you?"

Severus always appreciated the way Dumbledore phrased that question. _Can you tell me…_ The Headmaster and head of the Order of the Phoenix accepted that there were things his double agent could not reveal, and kept an endearing degree of trust in Severus' judgement. Had it been anyone but Dumbledore, Severus likely would have tried to find a way to take advantage of that trust, but Severus had no desire to betray Dumbledore. "I'd rather not," he replied softly, trying to force the images from his mind again. "Suffice to say it was unpleasant for me, and that's nothing compared to what it was for that woman."

A hand slipped onto Severus' wrist, and the Death Eater glanced fleetingly at Dumbledore. "She is dead now?" Severus nodded silently, and Dumbledore squeezed his hand. "Then she is no longer in pain."

And that doesn't make it any more right, does it? And it doesn't clear my conscience at all.

"And Voldemort is convinced now?"

Severus winced again at that name. Merlin's beard, he wished Dumbledore wouldn't say it aloud like that. "I doubt it," he replied bitterly. "The Dark Lord is seldom easily convinced of anything. It would not surprise me to be summoned again in a few days' time."

Dumbledore nodded. "And when you came back, you…"

Severus winced again, but this time it was at his own stupidity. "I went to try and drown my memories with a bottle of Cabernet," he replied caustically. "And, when that failed, I doubled the dosage."

"Did it work?"

"Obviously not, as I just told you what happened." There was a quiet that descended between them, and for a couple of moments, Severus thought he would survive it unscathed, but as it happened, his conscience got the better of him. "I know I should have come straight to you," he said softly, "I just didn't think I could face another human face." It was as close as he would come to apologizing, but Dumbledore seemed to accept that.

"How many does this woman make, then?" the Headmaster asked.

"Nineteen," came the prompt reply, then he looked at Dumbledore. "And why do you ask? I always meant to ask you why you always asked that."

"Because, Severus, it is one of the few ways I can think of to remind you that you are still human. You remember all their faces, correct?" Severus nodded. "Good. You hold onto that, because if you ever forget, you are in a far greater danger than you have ever faced."

And how could I ever forget? Of course, he knew it was possible. Lucius Malfoy probably did not remember the faces of all those he had killed. Crabbe and Goyle certainly did not; Severus didn't give those two credit for enough brain cells for such a feat. Macnair… not likely. Perhaps the headmaster had a point. Wouldn't be the first time Albus Dumbledore was right about something. "You know," Severus ventured quietly, "it's one thing to kill someone I know would kill me. Someone who knows who I am, who would take exception to this mark on my arm. Someone who is a part of this war. But it's Muggles, Albus. And women and children half the time. Ones who don't even believe magic exists, and there is no point to it. Their deaths are in vain, for nothing more than a ritual of blood."

Dumbledore nodded and patted Severus' hand. "There is a concept of valor in the Muggle world," he began quietly, "that few witches or wizards would understand. Most Muggles, I believe, would die to save others. Do not think of them as senseless deaths, for they are not. If the death of one Muggle woman tonight means that tomorrow you can give us information to save a hundred more lives, then the one death was not in vain. She was a casualty, Severus, in a war she did not know was being waged."

Severus nodded, but he didn't feel particularly better about it.

"It is because of your information that we have been able to thwart Voldemort as often as we have. What you do is not in vain. Remember that, Severus, and distance yourself from it if you must. But hold onto what is still human, and never forget those victims. Never forget the men and women who have died at you hands, and never forget to _feel_ for them. In the end, it will keep you sane." Dumbledore stood and glanced around.

"Comfortable as Aislinn's rooms are, I would suggest we move you to your own, and perhaps call the House Elves to come tidy up a bit?" Dumbledore suggested. Severus nodded, but reached for the headmaster's hand.

"I must tell you, first," he said softly. "Aislinn could not have helped but see this" he held up his arm, the Dark Mark burning black against his skin, "last night. Perhaps…"

Dumbledore nodded. "I will talk to her."

There was silence for a moment. "Are you going to adjust her memory?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "You are the one who has told me that she has a phenomenal memory, Severus. It is phenomenally difficult to erase a memory from one with a phenomenal memory."

Lovely. And while you're telling her about my involvement with the most hated and feared wizard the world knows, be sure to mention that I'm a murderer as well. And don't forget rapist; that should go over swimmingly. Oh, of course, and the torturing of Muggles and… Even his thoughts dried up at that point, and Severus could see the last of his hope slipping through his fingers. _Hope you enjoyed a night unconscious in her arms, because that's as close as you're ever going to get, now._

The thoughts, though bitter, were likely true. That did not, however, mean that Severus couldn't find a measure of deceptive false hope to cling to. _Then again, perhaps the fact that she **did** stay with you all night means something. You've underestimated her intelligence before, after all, don't fall into that trap again. She had ample opportunity to see the Mark on you arm, but she did not run screaming from you. And it isn't like you were in a position to do anything about it had she tried. So… Maybe…_

Despite the small infusion of hope, Severus couldn't force himself to finish that thought either. He looked at Dumbledore again. "Could I convince you to let me talk to her instead?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment. "And what will you tell her, Severus?"

Severus snorted softly, and his mouth curved into a sneer. "As little as possible without lying to her. She deserves the truth, if for no other reason that unwittingly involving herself, but…" He trailed off. There were two possible ends to that thought, and Severus didn't like either. _But the knowledge of what we're doing could be deadly to her. But the truth isn't something I want to think about, or to face. Let alone to share._

In a blinding example of why he made such an excellent Headmaster, Dumbledore nodded, seeming to understand what had not been spoken. "Do you want to speak with her alone, or shall I join you?"

Severus considered that for a long moment. A very long moment, weighing his options, but however he looked at them they came back to the same things: Dumbledore had a gift for putting people at ease, and for making positively anything sound reasonable, but this was Severus' battle, and if he were going to have any chance of escaping it (he didn't even let himself ponder the possibility of _winning_ it), he was going to have to fight it himself. "I'll speak with her alone," he said finally, closing his eyes.

"Don't you go to sleep, Severus. We need to move you to your room, and then there are some things I need you to do for the Order."

Severus groaned inwardly. "Can't any of it wait until this afternoon?" he asked. "I have a headache that would split a mountain."

As soon as he'd said it, Severus could almost feel the older wizard smiling, and he could have spoken in unison with Dumbledore. "And whose fault is that? No, it can't wait. The only reason you're not in front of you classes today is that I would feel sorry for your students. No, you may go back to sleep until after breakfast, then I'll be up to talk to you." A glance at the clock told Severus that he had something on the order of two hours then.

Severus sighed and forced himself out of the bed. He shrugged into his shirt, and picked up the rest of his clothes and his boots and took a fistful of floo powder. "My rooms," he sighed into the fire as he stepped into the emerald flames, and emerged in his own austere rooms. A marked difference from the rooms he'd just left, but he didn't have the energy to concentrate on that just then. He dropped his things on the floor a few feet from the fireplace and stumbled to his bedroom, stripping and tumbling into bed, ignoring the caustic remarks from that blasted painting.

"Well," it was saying, "look what the cat dragged in."

* * *

Fifteen minutes after the final bell rang, Severus and Dumbledore were sitting in Dumbledore's office, waiting. The Headmaster had sent Aislinn a message earlier in the day, requesting that she meet with them directly after the end of classes, and, while Severus doubted she would have the nerve to actually ignore a summons from the Headmaster, he was beginning to grow slightly irked at the wait.

"Calm, Severus. You know as well as I do how busy the corridors are at the end of the day. It's hard enough to move two doors. She'll be here. Would you like a peppermint while we're waiting?" Severus scowled at the proffered bowl, and Dumbledore shrugged. ""I'll find your sweet tooth yet," he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Not bloody likely,Severus thought. He didn't have long to dwell on it, though, because there was a faint sound outside the anteroom to Dumbledore's office, announcing the movement of the spiraling staircase. Severus straightened and watched the door nervously. When Aislinn entered, his winced subconsciously; she looked almost like a walking corpse. _That's right,_ he thought guiltily, _she had even less sleep last night than you did, and she did **not** have the benefit of a day off from the students._

"Ah, Aislinn, thank you for coming." Dumbledore had stood, and, as an afterthought Severus stood as well while the Headmaster reached for Aislinn's hand.

"Of course," she murmured, her eyes darting curiously around the office, then settling and appearing to glow slightly. _Is it possible that this is the first time she's been in here?_ Severus wondered. He glanced in the direction that her gaze had settled, and a smile nearly touched his lips. _Ah, it appears she has found a reason to talk with Dumbledore until the small hours of the morning too. Maybe I should devote some time to learning a bit more about the stars, and she'd look at me like that._

Dumbledore was patting her hand. "I see you've taken interest in my astrolabe," he commented, and Aislinn was nodding.

"Fascinating collection," she said, sounding genuinely impressed. "My interest in divination began with astrology," she was saying, "and my interest in astrology began with an interest in the stars."

"Well, you will have to come up here some time when there is no pressing business so we can while away a few hours chatting about the moons of Saturn and the classification of Pluto."

Severus had never seen a child in a candy store, but he suddenly had the impression that he understood where the expression came from. "I'd love that!" she was saying, and there was a hint of laughter to her voice.

"For now, though, I think perhaps we'd best get down to less enjoyable business. Will you sit, Aislinn? And would you care for a peppermint?"

Aislinn sat in the proffered chair and took a peppermint, which she popped into her mouth without hesitation. Dumbledore offered the bowl to Severus again, and with a sigh akin to one of defeat, he took a mint. "Aislinn," he nodded.

She smiled at him, one of those broad, welcoming smiles she had, and he felt his heart lighten for a moment, even as he wondered how she managed to smile like that when she looked so tired she could fall over where she was. "Severus," she said brightly, "how are you feeling?"

He winced inwardly, but opted for putting the best face possible on the situation. "Like I've been dragged through an avalanche," he replied as lightly as he could, "and then dropped into a vat of cotton. I'll live."

She was still smiling. "I hope so," she replied, though not quite as lightly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Very well, I see no reason to dodge the purpose of this meeting any more," he said, and Aislinn settled herself, leaning her elbow on one arm of the chair and crossing her legs at the knee. Severus' eyes were drawn to those stilted shoes she was wearing, and he found himself wondering yet again how she walked in them. It was a fleeting concern, though, as Dumbledore was continuing. "I'm sure you can imagine why I asked you to come, Aislinn?"

She frowned slightly. "I'm assuming it has something to do with last night?" she asked, and Severus nearly snorted. _Queen of Understatement, aren't you?_

"Yes," Dumbledore affirmed. "And specifically what you may have seen last night."

Something flickered across Aislinn's face, but she hid it quickly. "I saw nothing worthy of commenting on," she replied, and Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Then you have a remarkable ability for blindness, Aislinn," Severus replied dryly.

She flashed him a dangerous look and frowned. "Is that really what this meeting is about?" she asked. "Do you two think I'm going to take out an ad in the _Daily Prophet_ announcing that Severus Snape nearly drowned in his wine last night?"

Severus traded a look with Dumbledore. "You know that isn't what we're talking about, Aislinn, though I would personally appreciate it if you did not take out such an ad."

Something flickered across her face again, doubt perhaps? It was gone as soon as it was there, though, whatever it was. "Then what are you talking about?" she asked, sounding a bit too innocent.

Severus sighed. "Aislinn, stop it," he said harshly. "This is far too important. If you want to play dumb with other people, that's wonderful. In fact, I _encourage_ it, but it is critical that you understand what you saw last night, so that you understand why no one else can know about it."

She nodded, a frown touching her lips. "Very well," she replied.

For a moment, there was quiet, then Severus stood and walked to a bookcase, suddenly taking great interest in one of the titles. "I hardly know where to begin," he murmured, more to himself than to her. After a moment's consideration, he glanced over his shoulder. "You saw the mark on my arm?" She nodded, frowning slightly as though concentrating. "And you know what it means?" She hesitated, and Severus suddenly laughed, a cold and bitter sound. "You don't know what it means, do you?" She shook her head.

"Christ," he hissed, sinking into his chair again, leaning his head into his hand. His head was pounding again, but this time he didn't think it had anything to do with his overindulgence the night before.

"I…" she trailed off, then looked at him again. "In all honesty, Severus, I had other things on my mind last night. I can't honestly say I paid that much attention to your arm. It was, after all, one of the few parts of you that didn't appear to be injured. Some sort of tattoo…"

Severus was laughing bitterly. _She didn't know, but now she knows there is something she shouldn't know, and how long will it take her to deduce what that is? Bloody brilliant._ He sat up abruptly and ignored the protest from his head. "This," he hissed, rolling up his sleeve, "is what you half-saw. Do you know what that is?" The widening of her eyes told him she did, and he rolled his sleeve back down. "Good. Then I trust you understand now why we are having this conversation? I never dreamed you didn't notice it last night."

Dumbledore, who had been so quiet thus far, suddenly spoke softly. "Perhaps, Miss Ichalia, it would be a more direct approach if you were to tell us what you saw, and perhaps we can clear your mind about a few things?"

Severus frowned at Dumbledore, wondering what the old man thought Aislinn knew, given that she hadn't known until this moment that he was a Death Eater. Aislinn, however, was nodding slowly.

"I saw faces," she said softly. Severus frowned. _Faces?_ Dumbledore nodded, indicating she should go on. "A man," she whispered, "with dark hair and a hook nose, and a heavy jaw. Then a woman, with a delicate, pretty face and green eyes, black hair. An elderly woman, who looked like she had laughed a lot in her life. A child with pale blond hair…"

A look of horror was beginning to creep across Severus' face, and Dumbledore was nodding thoughtfully. "Yes," he said quietly, "I think perhaps I can see why you didn't notice Severus' arm."

She swallowed hard, and looked at Severus again, smiling, though he couldn't help but notice that it was a weak smile. "Besides which," she said softly, "I was really more concerned with that cut on his head."

Severus closed his eyes. "Aislinn…" he began, "those people…" He opened his eyes again when he felt a hand on his arm, and he was surprised to see it was her hand.

"Please," she whispered softly, "don't tell me if I don't have to know." She looked at Dumbledore again. "So, I would never have believed that you… that Hogwarts…" she trailed off, as though unsure what to say. Dumbledore rescued her from her reticence.

"Severus performs a dangerous, yet essential task for us," Dumbledore was saying. Aislinn was nodding. "So, I trust you realize how crucial it is that you not reveal…"

"I won't," Aislinn whispered softly. "I won't tell a soul."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Dumbledore rose. "Thank you for coming, Aislinn. I hope you will still come visit me some time, and we will discuss things that shine in the midnight sky."

Aislinn stood too, and Severus hauled himself to his feet as well, feeling numb and detached as Aislinn put on a brave smile for Dumbledore. "I'd like nothing better," she was saying, and if the lightness in her voice sounded forced, at least it was there. "For now, though, I have a few things I need to see to," she told them. "Headmaster," she took the hand he offered, and Severus saw him squeeze her hand softly. Then, to his surprise, she offered her hand to him, and he took it. "Severus," she said softly, squeezing his hand gently. He squeezed back gratefully. And a moment later, she was gone.

There was a brief silence, in which neither of the two men spoke, but it was Dumbledore who broke it at last. "She is a special woman, isn't she?"

Severus nodded dumbly, flexing his hand slightly. "She is."

"And a true friend, I would say." Severus looked at the Headmaster. "But I can't help but think you wish it were something more."

Severus cleared his throat. "Well, I can't deny that she is a beautiful woman and…"

Dumbledore's chuckling made the potionmaster stop short, scowling. "You know, Severus, there are worse things to build love off of than friendship. Perhaps if you encourage the attentions she _is_ giving you, and show her that you will not break what part of her heart she is offering, she will offer you more of it."

Severus blinked at Dumbledore, trying to wrap his mind around what the headmaster had just said.

"And, perhaps, if you can find the opportunity, you might suggest a very early picnic breakfast in the astronomy tower on December 13."

For a moment, Severus stared uncomprehending at the Headmaster. "What? Is Venus moving into Uranus then?"

A flicker of amusement crossed Dumbledore's face. "Why Severus, I think you very nearly made a joke. But no, it is nothing so subtle. It would, however, be an excellent time to observe a meteor shower." Severus' face must have looked as blank as his mind felt, for Dumbledore patted his arm. "Shooting stars, Severus. I rather think Aislinn would enjoy it."


	22. A brief encounter

December 10   
  
"Professor! Professor Snape!"   
  
Severus stopped his determined stalk and turned around, lifting an eyebrow at the brave Ravenclaw who had stopped him. "Yes?" he asked, affixing the student with a glare worthy of a Gryffindor.   
  
"I-" the student paused and looked momentarily doubtful of the intelligence of his actions, then barrelled ahead. "Some of the other Second Years and I were wondering if we could…" he swallowed hard, "if we could schedule a time with you for some questions and answers…" The student was trailing off, and appearing to seriously doubt the idea which had undoubtedly seemed such a good one before it actually came time to implement it.   
  
"I see," Severus said silkily, moving slightly, just enough to set his robes aflutter. The effect was precisely as he'd anticipated; the Ravenclaw looked like he was about to wet himself from fright. "And how many of you are there who have not been paying attention in class?"   
  
The student paled, but lifted his chin determinedly. "We were paying attention, Sir! But…"   
  
Severus shook his head slightly. "I did not ask you whether you were paying attention, Mr. Flanagan," he whispered smoothly, "I asked how many of you there are. If you wish to bother me to repeat what I have said in class already, it is obvious that you were not paying attention."   
  
The boy took a visibly deep breath. "Eleven, Sir."   
  
Eleven students. Severus was actually mildly impressed that they had the foresight to organize a study group and to request some time with a teacher all together, but he had little intention of letting them know that. "And how long do you think it will take the eleven of you to learn what you did not learn in class?"   
  
Flannagan opened his mouth, eyes flashing indignantly, and Severus' mouth curled into a sneer as he waited for the boy to protest again. Ravenclaws, however, were fast learners, and nearly as canny as Slytherins. "Three hours?" he asked, smoothing all defiance from his voice.   
  
Severus nodded slowly. "Very well, Mr. Flannagan. Seven o'clock sharp, Tuesday evening. In the dungeons. And if you find other students who wish to attend, they may."   
  
The boy looked immensely relieved, and grinned. "Thank you, sir!" he called, and turned, all but running back down the corridor. Severus shook his head slightly and wondered what the students wanted extra information about. It would help if he could spend a few moments referencing page numbers, as he certainly preferred to tell the students where to look and have them find information themselves rather than simly offering it to them on a platter. But then, assuming the students were Ravenclaw, it wasn't likely they would be asking questions that were so obvious. Ravenclaws were notoriously studious, and while there was the occasional student who didn't apply himself as fully as he could, they certainly knew which of their House members to ask for additional help. He doubted any of his students would come to him for additional help if there were any other feasible option. Thus, it stood to reason that there would be little by way of preparatory work that he could do to make the process easier. _Oh well,_ he thought dismissively. Severus knew he could teach any of his classes off the cuff and teach them well. He was, after all, a Potions Master, not just some loon hired to teach it.   
  
He continued his path to the Slytherin Tower, where he intended to look in on his charges and assure himself that they were aware that the extended curfew applied only to those who intended to use it for studying. As he stepped into the common room, though, he frowned at the scene. There was substantially less talking than he had anticipated, but also very little reading or writing or anything else of use. Everyone was, instead, staring at the entrance to the girl's dormitory, and Severus took a deep breath before turning his eyes to that portal as well. There were parts of his position as Head of Slytherin that he utterly detested, and one of those parts was keeping the girls in line. The boys were sufficiently scared of him, and fundamentally familiar at least. The girls, on the other hand, were a complete mystery, and a mystery he had always felt required more monitoring than the boys. And, once or twice, he'd had the unhappy distinction of being the adult figure to coach a crying girl through one or another important phase in her life. Severus did not feel he was precisely _qualified_ to be instructing girls on the finer subtleties of womanhood, and, from the attention everyone was paying the girls' dormitory, he was afraid he was going to be called upon tonight to do some unpleasant task involving the girls. To waylay some crisis of vast magnitude.   
  
His concerns were quickly aliviated, though, as the door from the girls' dormitory to the common room opened and one Miss Aislinn Ichalia stepped out. Severus' eyes narrowed suspiciously. He'd barely seen her for more than five minutes at a time since the night he'd returned from a summons by the Dark Lord. What was she doing here now? He wasted no time in asking her.   
  
"Ah, Miss Ichalia," his voice had taken on some of the smooth disdain for which he was famous with the students, thankfully not falling into the uncertain worry that tended to plague him when he was alone with her. "An unusual place for a Gryffindor," he commented, almost mildly.   
  
Aislinn stopped suddenly, her eyes widening a fraction, but the expression was quickly replaced by a broad smile. "Nonsense, Professor Snape," she replied, "I haven't been a Gryffindor for some years. I am merely a teacher, and as such, I do have the right to go wherever I choose in this castle."   
  
That wasn't quite the truth of it, but it was close enough, and Severus had little intention of revealing to the students that there were places that were off-limits to the faculty. "Then what brings you here?" he asked pointedly, opting for a different tactic.   
  
Her smile broadened across her face but seemed to leave her eyes all together. "Another privledge of being on the other side of the big desk now, isn't it, Professor? I am no longer obligated to explain myself to you."   
  
She was stalking across the common room now, and Severus noted with vague interest that she traded her robes for a full, lightweight skirt that brushed her calves tantalizingly when she moved and emphasized the curves of her hips. Hips that swayed alarmingly as she stepped gracefully through the room. It had something to do with the height of the heels she was wearing, that much hed' worked out, but he didn't understand how it worked. The higher her heels, though, the more her hips swayed, and tonight the spikes that elevated her were four inches or better, he was sure. He pulled his eyes firmly back to her face. "And I, Miss Ichalia, have the right to know what is going on in my own House's Tower."   
  
She opened her mouth again, as though to argue but to Severus' pleasant surprise, she closed it and lowered her head slightly, as though conceding the point. "Very well, Professor," she replied, "I was visiting with a student."   
  
He looked at her skeptically for a moment. "Which student?" he asked, glancing towards the dormitory again, "and why?"   
  
Any hint there had been of submission about her flitted away. "That, Professor, is not a topic suitable for discussion in a Common Room. If you wish a report, I will deliver it to your desk…"   
  
He frowned at her. She was baiting him, and he knew it, but he couldn't tell if she was aware he knew it or not. On the one hand, if it were something for which she'd felt the need to deduct points from Slytherin, he would find out about it in due time. On the other hand, if she were simply making an informal visit to one of the Slytherin students, pressing the issue might well turn the informal visit into one with more action taken. He thought carefully for a moment, torn between curiosity (and a certain degree of indignation that she would walk into his Common Room and still maintain that she was queen of the bloody castle), and a desire to let well enough alone. He studied her carefully, but there was no glittering of her eyes, and once again he noted that her smiles were nowhere near those expressive orbs. She was not, perhaps, strictly toying with him.   
  
"A word with you, Miss Ichalia?" he asked, and a murmur swept through the room, reminding Severus that he had a student audience. "In private?"   
  
She looked again for a moment as though she were going to protest, but glanced at the students again. Severus looked at them too, and noted with some alarm that all eyes were on them. _For the love of Merlin, _he begged silently, _just back down for once in your life, Aislinn. _Perhaps to his surprise, she did just that. "Very well," she conceded. He gestured to the door and she didn't even glance back at the students before she slipped out of the portrait hole. Severus, however, did look back and noted the smirks on a number of students' faces. He cast them a warning look, and not a word was said, but as he followed Aislinn into the corridor, he heard someone making the comment, "She's about to find out that once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor, and Gryffindor is not welcome in Slytherin Common Rooms."   
  
Severus didn't bother to correct the boy who'd said it, though he had no intention of anything of the sort. He had mostly wanted to get her out of there before she made a fool of him again, a task she seemed to delight in.   
  
"Where did you have in mind for our 'private word'?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced around. His initial reaction was to suggest his office, but in all honesty, he didn't want to go back down to the dungeons for what he anticipated being a ten-minute conversation. Then again, he didn't particularly relish the idea of taking her to his personal rooms, either. There were not, however, all that many choices presenting themselves readily, and, with a slight sigh, he resigned himself to the unpleasant options he had.   
  
"My own rooms are nearby," he suggested, "or we can go back down to the dungeons. I don't expect this discussion will take long."   
  
Aislinn nodded and glanced down the corridor, and he wondered if she was thinking the same things he was: the dungeon was a long walk for a short conversation, but she didn't seem terribly keen on his personal rooms, either. Finally, though, she sighed softly. "I would really rather not go back to the dungeons tonight," she told him.   
  
He nodded and gestured down a corridor. They walked in silence past a few intersecting corridors, then he touched her elbow to indicate they'd reached their destination. He spoke his password softly, though she'd suddenly found a polite interest in a tapestry across the corridor; perhaps he wouldn't have to change the password now after all. "Aislinn?"   
  
She turned back to him and preceeded him into the room, pausing a few steps inside and to the left of the door. "Lumos," he said as he closed the door behind him, and all the candles sprang into light, casting a soft glow over the austere sitting room. He glanced towards his bedchamber and noted with relief that the door was closed, then gestured towards a chair. "Have a seat," he invited, crossing to the sideboard against the back wall. "Would you care for something to drink? Tea? Sherry?"   
  
"No, thank you," she replied politely. The surge of disappointment he felt must have touched his face because her lips quirked into a half-smile. "You said yourself that this will be a short conversation," she pointed out reasonably.   
  
He nodded. "Of course." He removed a glass for himself and momentarily considered vodka, but settled for sherry. "Then I will be brief. What were you doing in the Slytherin Tower?"   
  
She smiled briefly. "I told you, Severus, I was visiting a student."   
  
"Why?" He took a drink of his sherry as he seated himself, and she shook her head slightly, then drew her feet up to tuck them under herself, then, seeming to think better of it, put them on the floor again.   
  
"That's really none of your concern," she told him bluntly, and his eyes narrowed.   
  
"Was the student in question a Slytherin?" he asked pointedly, and she gave him a level look.   
  
"I was under the impression that most of the students who live in Slytherin dormitories are Slytherin. Am I wrong in this assumption?" The look he gave her said clearly that he was not amused, and her look said clearly that she was not impressed by his scowl. "It was a visit for personal reasons, Severus. Just leave it at that."   
  
He considered that for a moment. He knew he could pursue the issue, and if he really wanted to he could insist she tell him, but she had insinuated that perhaps it was something he didn't want to know. _Personal reasons._ That phrase, when coupled with his female students, brought to mind any number of things he didn't really want to know or to think about, and he doubted seriously that Aislinn was unaware of that. She was, after all, a very perceptive young woman. And yet, knowing that about her, he wondered if it was a ploy on her part; after all, that would be a simple way to deter a man from asking more questions, wouldn't it? He tried for a moment to convince himslef that she wouldn't use the possibility of feminine mysteries to deter him from asking more questions, but he couldn't really convince himself of that. A frown crossed his face. "Very well," he conceded, "but I have a question for you then."   
  
"And what is that?" she asked.   
  
"Why were you not Slytherin?" She looked momentarily taken aback, and stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, as though trying to decide whether or not to grace him with an answer. He took the opportunity to elaborate. "You have a drive and determination, and great skill," he said softly, sipping his sherry again, "and a shrewdness that I do not remember from your days as a student, which makes me wonder if I was blind to it or if it is a quality you have developed since you left Hogwarts. Regardless, you are in possession of all the traits that Slytherin prizes. So why is it that you were sorted into Gryffindor?"   
  
Aislinn laughed a bit. "How should I know how the Sorting Hat decides these things?" she asked. "My mother was Slytherin. My father was Ravenclaw. His father was Gryffindor and his mother Hufflepuff. My mother's parents were Slytherin and Ravenclaw. I think perhaps I have the longest line of hodgepodge houses of any student who ever attended Hogwarts." This last was a dry comment, and Severus exhaled briefly in a soft snort of laughter. Indeed, it was a keen observation, most of the families who had long lines of students at Hogwarts were Slytherin.   
  
"Then the Sorting Hat did not waffle over you?" he asked softly, taking another sip of his sherry.   
  
Aislinn smiled. "No, Severus. The hat barely settled onto my head before declaring me Gryffindor. My mother was hardly thrilled when she found out, but I don't know that anyone else in the family so much as noticed."   
  
Severus twirled his glass thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. "It's uncommon for a Pureblood not to be sorted into Slytherin," he commented noncommittally.   
  
She lifted an eyebrow. "Perhaps the Sorting Hat realized that I am not precisely a Pureblood, then," she suggested, and he nodded. He hadn't thought she was, by virtue of the fact that he knew next to nothing about her family, but he'd entertained the possibility that she was. After all, he wasn't so conceited as to think he knew every witch and wizard who had ever lived. "My grandparents were all witches and wizards," she said with a slight shrug, "but that's as far back as the line goes, really. Not something mother discusses very much."   
  
Severus nodded again and took another sip of his sherry, wondering idly how long she would talk if he didn't interrupt her. She had always been prone to talking, and, it seemed that age hadn't done much to stay her tongue. She didn't disappoint him.   
  
"Mother has it in her head that another generation or three will see our family as esteemed as the Malfoy or Goyle," she was saying, "and I've never been able to convince her that however she tries to solidify the line, our family will always have something like forty fewer generations of magical ancestors than those others. She doesn't seem to understand that concept." A note of criticism had slipped into her voice and, again, she moved as though she were going to tuck her feet under her, but stopped.   
  
"Many families seek to solidify blood lines," Severus commented noncommittally.   
  
"Yes," Aislinn sighed softly, "I know." She stretched her fingers, studying them carefully. "She had such great hopes that I would be the key to the establishing of our family."   
  
"But," Severus prompted.   
  
She smiled bitterly. "But I turned out to be somewhat less than ideal for the challenge," she replied, offering not a bit more information than he already had.   
  
Severus sipped his sherry again, but, apparantly, she had learned a bit of restraint over the years, as she offered no more information. He was quiet for the moment, debating whether or not to pursue the question with her, his curiosity warring with his desire not to look like he cared too greatly. At length, though, curiosity won out. "May I ask why not?" he asked softly.   
  
Aislinn snorted softly. "It's a long story," she told him.   
  
"I have the time," he replied.   
  
She was quiet for a moment, and he thought she was going to tell him to sod off and mind his own business (which he did not doubt he deserved.), but after a pause, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. "Does your offer for sherry still stand?" she asked.   
  
He raised an eyebrow and set his own glass aside, then stood and moved over to the sideboard and poured her a glass. After delivering it into her hand, he seated himself again and watched as she swirled the amber liquid absently in the glass. She held it up to the light for a moment, looking at it, and for a moment he considered telling her that he hadn't poisoned it, but she sipped it before he could open his mouth. "Thank you," she said quietly, still studying the glass.   
  
He sipped his own sherry and waited. After a moment, she began speaking. "You might remember I told you I battled cancer when I was a child?" she asked, and he nodded, frowning slightly. "Well, the treatment for it had a rather… unpleasant side effect," she said quietly. She tipped her head back and emptied the contents of her glass down her throat. "I'm sterile," she told him. "You can't build a family from a daughter who can't have babies."   
  
Somehow, he'd been expecting a more elaborate, less blunt explanation, but he felt his heart ache softly for her just the same. "I can imagine that your mother was not overly pleased," he speculated, rising to refill her glass.   
  
She smiled humorlessly. "Hardly," she affirmed. "In fact, it's a bit ironic. When I first began showing signs of the disease, mother ignored the symptoms. She didn't want anyone in the wizarding community to know that her daughter had a dreadful disease, and I suppose it was easier for her to deny it if she didn't know either. It was my father's mother who finally took me to a Muggle hospital, because that would be easier to keep from my mother, and it was my father who signed the paperwork to have me admitted. Mother," she paused and emptied half her glass again, "would have likely let me die. As it happened, though, she was content enough to leave me in a Muggle hospital where no one was likely to discover my condition." She dipped a finger into her glass and ran it softly along the rim, a high-pitched ringing suddenly filling the room. "The doctors said that had they caught the disease sooner, the treatment would have been less intense, and perhaps the results not so drastic. I don't think she's said ten words to me since then."   
  
Severus took another sip of his sherry, watching her over the rim of her glass. _Go and comfort her_, said a soft voice in his head, _now is your chance. _He didn't know what to do or say, though, so he did and said nothing. She said nothing, but finished her second glass of sherry fairly quickly. Severus rose to refill it, but she shook her head and he nodded and sank into his chair again. "It seems a bit harsh," he said finally, "treating you so for something that was not your fault."   
  
Aislinn shrugged. "She prefers to pretend I don't exist," she said bluntly. "Particularly since she had another daughter when I was halfway through my time here."   
  
Severus raised an eyebrow, and his mind began churning, piecing together information. The Seventh Year students remembered her from when they were First Years, which meant it had been seven years since she'd left Hogwarts, and her sister was born when she was halfway through, so around her fourth year. Which would have been eleven years ago. And that meant… "Your sister is in Slytherin," he concluded, aloud.   
  
She stared at him for a moment, then suddenly started laughing. "You didn't know that? Honestly, Severus, I thought you were being obtuse this evening. And I thought you kept calling me 'Miss Carlisle' to tell me that you knew Amber was my sister." She shook her head slightly and raised her empty glass to her lips, then frowned at it, as though suddenly realizing it was empty. "I wonder which one of us won that one then…"   
  
Severus, however, was too busy staring at her. Amber Carlisle, the girl he'd been watching the first day of school, the evening of the Feast, the one he'd had to chase to her dormitory so often. The one who always talked back to him in class and had such an engaging smile and a penchant for detention… That girl was Aislinn's _sister_? He took a deep breath and shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "I suppose I should have expected that," he conceded, "but I must admit that I had no clue."   
  
Aislinn shrugged. "Just as well. Mother would probably prefer no one knew she and I are related."   
  
There was something of a warning in that, and Severus nodded slowly, frowning. As his mind worked past the shock that Aislinn had a sister who was one of his own students, and a Slytherin at that, he found himself suddenly reassessing Aislinn's earlier comments to him. Trapped by her name, was she? Suddenly, he thought he could see that.   
  
He stood and went back to the sideboard, pouring himself another glass of sherry, and bringing the bottle to refill her glass as well. "Try to make that one last more than two minutes," he chastised, then returned the bottle to its place. He moved his chair a bit closer to hers, and seated himself again. She gave him a slightly grateful smile.   
  
"Thank you," she said quietly, and sipped.   
  
A silence fell between them, but it was oddly comfortable. A simple matter of two people sitting in comfortable chairs with sherry and a mutual understanding. Well, Severus, at least, knew there was a mutual understanding, though he doubted Aislinn knew it.   
  
"Slytherin," he began quietly, taking a deep interest in his glass, "has one very serious fault. Though if you repeat that, I will deny I ever said it." Aislinn's lips quirked into a smile. "There is such a great emphasis on being of the 'right' family, which is unfortunate. It's the one thing a person can't control—the situation into which he or she was born." Severus took another sip. "It took me better than fifteen years to realize that," he confided, "and I'm still not likely to say it when many can hear it. But being of the right kind of family has so little bearing on anything. Cesspools of inbreeding," he commented softly, "and a general weakening of ability overall."   
  
Aislinn was watching him as though entranced. Perhaps she was. "I didn't have the 'right' kind of family either," he confessed quietly. "Pureblood, yes, but hardly the nobility that the Malfoys and Crabbes of the world have cultivated."   
  
He watched her face for any sign of malice, but there was none. A bit of curiosity, perhaps, but nothing more. "I've never heard you speak of your past," she said softly, taking another sip of sherry.   
  
He sighed. "I suppose there isn't much I wish to remember."


	23. The effects of wine

"Would you like to share some of them?" Aislinn regarded Severus carefully over the top of her wine glass, and watched with interest as emotion played across his face. She didn't know what she was thinking, asking him that; of course he didn't want to share any of those memories. He'd already told her, and just a second before, that there was little he wished to remember about his past. Still, it didn't hurt to ask. She hoped. Though, judging from the shifting kaleidoscope of his face, Aislinn wasn't so sure.

"It's a long story," he said, his lips curving into a half-hearted sneer.

And was that an invitation? She wondered. It was, after all, the same excuse she'd given. Her excuse, though, had really been an offering to him, to give him a chance to back out of hearing her story if he didn't want to. What was his excuse? "I have the time," she replied softly, and he looked at her for a moment, and she thought that perhaps she'd given him credit for more than he deserved for the second time in the night. She cleared her throat softly and leaned forward, setting her glass on the floor and laying a hand on his knee. "Severus," she said softly, keeping her eyes on his, "if you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. But I will listen."

He nodded silently, and she gave his knee a firm squeeze, then straightened, drawing her legs beneath her once again before she realized she wasn't in her own rooms and Severus might not appreciate her feet on his furniture. He seemed to notice, though, and stood suddenly.

"Is it cold in here to you?" he asked, glancing at the fireplace, which was cold and dark. "I don't know what I was thinking, not lighting the fire."

Aislinn glanced at the fireplace and frowned. There was a thin layer of dust on the log in it, and she wondered just how long it had been since he had last had a fire in it. "I…" she faltered. She _was_ cold, but she didn't want him to be uncomfortably warm, so for a moment she was at a loss. He made the decision for her, though, and a faintly acrid smell of smoke permeated the room, soon replaced by the fresher scent of a burning log.

"Why don't we move closer to the fire?" he suggested, bending to pick up her glass from the floor. He walked over to the sideboard, and she shrugged slightly, taking his advice and settling onto the floor by the fire, which was popping and crackling merrily now.

When he returned, there was a brief flicker of confusion on his face, and she belatedly realized that he might have been suggesting moving the chairs, but before she could offer to rectify the situation, he was placing her glass back in her hand. "I'll go get a couple of blankets," he offered, placing his own glass on the floor. "Make youself comfortable."

She breifly considered the implication of blankets on the floor in front of the fire, but put the idea from her head. _No,_ she told herself firmly, _you are not going to protest a suggestion he never made._ That decided, she sipped her sherry, and tucked her legs under her, covering them with her skirt. A moment later, he had returned with a couple of quilts that looked battered and worn, but neatly folded, and he shook one of them out then settled it around her shoulders. "Better?" he asked.

She smiled up at him, her head craned back to meet his eyes. "Much," she admitted, pulling the coners tightly around her shoulders.

"Good," he whispered, and looked about to sit, then seemed to change his mind. One more trip to the sideboard, and he came back with the bottle of sherry, nearly empty, and another unopened bottle with a corkscrew. "I thought we might need this," he shrugged, placing the bottles aside and then settling, close enough that she could have leaned into his arms if she wished.

And which one of us has her mind in the wrong place now? She chastised herself. _This is delaying tactic on his part, trying to make you forget the question. _Even knowing that, she was determined she wasn't going to repeat it. If he wanted to answer then…

"Let's see," he was saying. "My past." Aislinn gave him a slightly surpried, but hopefully sympathetic and encouraging look. "And," he said suddenly, looking at her, "don't expect me to tell you everything. Not tonight." He took another sip of his sherry, "Not without the help of considerably more alcohol." This last was muttered softly enough that Aislinn wasn't convinced she was even meant to hear it.

He sipped his sherry again. "Hrm… let's see. I grew up in a small flat in Muggle London," he said matter-of-factly. "My father worked for the Ministry of Magic—when I told my schoolmates about my family I left it at that," he confidded, "but it was nothing grand and prestigous. He worked in the owlery, delivering messages to people who were too important to check for messages themselves. My mother was a full time wife and a sometimes mother. She was reasonably attentive when I was a small child, at least while my father was at work. But it was never any secret that she was, first and foremost, his wife, and I was just one of her duties."

Aislinn listened intently, sorting through the sarcasm and trying her best to hear what he was saying. She sipped her own sherry and smiled encouragingly.

"To say that my father disliked me would be putting it mildly. He apparently didn't take well to the intrusion of a child in his life, and seldom lost any opportunity to tell me how inconvenient I was. And he was disappointed in my appearance. I think," Severus paused and looked thoughtfully at Aislinn, "that he was the first man you saw the night…" he trailed off and Aislinn nodded, "well, incidentally, I'm going to want you to tell me how you did that, but suffice to say that he was a big man, and he was rather… disenchanted with me. I took after my mother, I suppose. She was a beautiful woman, and from all accounts, I was a beautiful child. Hard to believe now, isn't it?" He snorted softly.

Aislinn reached over, not a far reach at all, and placed her fingers under his chin. He lifted his head agreeably, and she studied him for a moment, looking past the more obvious appearances. That nose was most unfortunate, and he had the look of a man who didn't eat enough by half, and she still had a strong urge to dunk his head under the water and scrub his scalp until his hair was either clean or fell out from her efforts. But there was a pleasing angularity to his face, and she could imagine his hair clean and his eyes without dark circles and his cheeks a little less gaunt… and she could imagine that he might be something approaching attractive if not quite handsome. "Not so hard to believe," she said softly, moving her thumb against his cheek. _What are you doing!_ _Don't encourage attentions you don't want!_ Aislinn ignored the voice, but did drop her hand back to her lap.

"Well, I fell somewhat short of his hopes, I think. My mother's delicate bones, her face, her general slightness. All things which, while quite lovely on a woman, do little for a man. The only things I seemed to have inherited from my father were his nose and his eyes." He sipped his sherry again. "And his temper." Aislinn watched him carefully, but he wasn't looking at her. "I was possibly three years old the first time I remember him beating her, for something I did, and she was crumpled in a heap on the floor and crying, and there was nothing I could do about it. After that, she scolded me for anything I did to make him angry. In retrospect, I suppose she wasn't that wonderful a mother after all, but I can't say I blame her for it. And, when I was seven or so, he stopped beating her and turned his attention to me."

Aislinn felt her heart aching for him, and suddenly felt guilty for having made so much of her own past sorrows. For all she could complain about about her parents, at least they had never beaten her. She'd always known that they were there, and would see to her needs.

"Anyway," Severus took a much heftier sip of his sherry this time. "They both died when I was in my sixth year, and I never had any other family."

Placing her glass aside again, Aislinn reached for him, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. He looked over at her as though realizing suddenly that she was there, and placed a hand on top of hers. She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, and this time, she noted with some satisfaction, he didn't take quite so long to relax under her touch. She held him for a long moment before letting go, and when she did let go, she had the distinct impression that he wanted to pull her back into his arms, but if it was an accurate impression, he did a fine job in suppressing the desire.

"Well," he whispered thickly, and then cleared his throat. "Like I said a minute ago, I want to know how you saw those faces," he said softly. "If you don't mind…?"

Aislinn smiled a bit. "I'm really not sure I can explain it," she commented idly. "I have a friend who insists it's a psychic ability, and maybe she's right. I often have dreams I don't think are mine, but it's seldom I know to whom they belong."

Severus frowned slightly. "Legilimency?" he asked, but she shook her head.

"No, nothing that consicous. It isn't something I try to do, but rather something that is…" she paused trying to think how best to explain it. "I hate to say it's something that is inflicted on my, because that implies being a victim of it, and I don't particularly like that implication. But that might be the best I can do. It's like sitting in a crowded room with hundreds of people talking," she offered. "You can't help but overhear some people. Particularly if they're speaking loudly."

Severus nodded thoughtfully. He didn't look convinced, precisely, but at least he didn't look like he was about to argue with her about the impossibility of it.

"I have a friend who likens it to a radio antenna," she ventured. "I'm more 'receptive' than most people."

Severus took another drink of his sherry. "You know," he said softly, "if it weren't for the fact that you were talking about images I'd had in my head, I would probably think you were either a liar or a lunatic," he admitted, and Aislinn smiled.

"You wouldn't be the first," she commented dryly, "and likely not the last. Although I don't know why it's so much more difficult to believe than… say… electricity or…" she shrugged, "or magic."

He smiled a bit. "I guess I'll give you that."

A silence embraced the two of them, and Aislinn watched as Severus inched his hand closer to her. It was almost amusing, and a rather juvenile action, she thought; after all, most adults who wished to touch someone just did so. But then, from her limited experience with him, she wasn't sure he'd been touched by many people in his life. Perhaps, in that respect, he was still a child. _A far too philosophical question for this late at night,_ came a practical voice in her head. Really, though, she knew that late at night, or in the small hours of morning, her mind was most likely to touch on questions of philosophy. Severus' hand was only inches from hers, and, in a fit of impishness, she suddenly moved, reaching for the bottle of wine. She could almost taste his frustration as she settled again, closer to him, but his hand now hovering near her foot instead of her hand.

Don't tease him, she scolded herself, but she couldn't help hiding a smile as she uncorked the bottle. "More?" she asked him, holding up the bottle, and he nodded, offering his own glass.

She steadied the bottom of the glass with her fingertips and tipped the bottle, but he suddenly stopped her, his hand over hers. "You don't have the slightest idea what you're doing, do you?" he asked softly, and she stared at him for a moment.

"I'm pouring…" she stated the obvious, and he laughed softly, making her eyes flash indignantly.

"I can see that," he whispered. He took the bottle from her hand and picked up her glass, tilting it towards the bottle, then tipping the bottle slightly. "Wine is not punpkin juice, Miss Ichalia," he chided softly, and she found herself blushing, but she refused to ask him what the difference was. "You don't simply splash it into a glass. It requires more care. More subtlty." The golden liquid flooded gently from the bottle, cascading down the side of the glass and pooling in the bottom, and he tilted the bottle deftly away, stemming the flow, then held up the glass to the light.

"Sherry isn't so prone to bruising as other wines," he said softly, "but all wine is delicate." He put the bottle back in her hand, then moved to sit behind her, and reached forward, picking up his own glass and wrapping her fingers around it. "Tilt the glass towards the bottle," he whispered, his breath warm on her ear and sending shivers up her spine. She followed his instructions, though not to his satisfaction apparently. His hand closed around hers and tilted the glass to a nearly 45° angle. "Then bring the mouth of the bottle almost to the rim of the glass, but not touching it," he instructed, and she grimaced as the bottle clinked musically against the rim. "It's all right," he said softly, his breath still caressing her ear, "slowly… there." He sounded satisfied as the liquid began to slip silkily from the bottle, swirling to a rest in the bottom of the glass. "No more than three-fourths full," he told her, "but at least two-thirds. And slowly tilt the bottle back again…" He reached forward and took the glass from her, his fingers curling casually around the bowl, the stem dangling between his fingers. "Perfect," he breathed, and she felt herself smiling in spite of herself, feeling almost as giddy as she had the one time he had praised her in class.

As he set the bottle aside, Aislinn realized suddenly that she was in his arms, a fact that had escaped her somehow when she was receiving instruction from him. _Very good, Professor,_ she thought idly. _Maybe you aren't so adolescent as I had thought._ The speculation, however, lasted only until she realized that he didn't seem to be making any effort to move at all, which might have been more effective had his arms actually been around her still. As it was, he now seemed torn between sitting awkwardly close (awkward, given that they weren't even touching now) and moving away (which she had the distinct impression he didn't want to do). _Or maybe that wasn't a ploy after all,_ she thought.

She lifted her glass to her lips, and took another sip of the sweet liquid, batting her options around in her mind. At length, she came to a conclusion, and leaned back fractionally, her back coming into contact with his chest. She felt him stiffen, and she set her glass aside again, then reached behind her, taking his hand in hers. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked him softly, looking up into his eyes. She pulled his hand around her waist, and reached for the other hand. Finding that it still clutched a glass of sherry, she softly flicked her fingers against his, and he put the glass aside, then, of his own will, moved his arm to circle her.

"Not precisely," he whispered, his breath ruffling her hair again.

She crossed her arms and touched his elbows, drawing his arms more tightly around her. "Then what is it?" she asked quietly.

He opened his mouth, as though to say something, but seemed to change his mind. "I suppose," he replied, almost inaudibly, "that I'm unsure what you want from me. It hasn't been long at all since you were telling me you had no interest…"

Aislinn nodded, and considered sitting up, backing away from him. _You're drunk, Aislinn,_ came a rational voice in her head. _Just because it doesn't taste like whiskey or vodka doesn't mean it isn't potent. You were safer when you were shivering in the chair._ She knew it was probably the truth, but a part of her didn't care. A big part of her. "God help me, Severus," she whispered into the air, staring at the fire, "I'm not sure I know what I want from you either."


	24. An Agreement

She felt him stiffen again, his muscles tensing, and instinctively, she held his arms more firmly in place. He didn't pull away from her, but it wasn't quite the intimate embrace of only moments before. Her mind was racing, trying to find an explanation for him, trying to find something to give him, but she only came up with nothing. Nothing except a frantic desire that he not let go. She squirmed slightly, trying to turn to look at him, but as she moved, his arms relaxed, and he was no longer holding her.

"No," she protested softly. "Don't let go." He was sitting with his right leg folded in front of him, his left leg bent at the knee beside her. She tucked her legs under her, and rested her hands on her thighs. "Please?" she whispered, looking for some invitation to touch him again.

He obliged her and gathered her into his arms, but it was still a stiff concession. She leaned forward, her head connecting with his shoulder. "Please, Aislinn," he whispered into her hair, his soft plea barely audible. "Don't tease me," he whispered softly.

Aislinn's heart threatened to burst open that he trusted her so little. _What do you think I am?_ she wondered silently. But she knew. She knew what he thought of her; what else could he think of her? Given the way she continued to squirm into his arms only to pull back and protest that she wanted nothing more than friendship from him. She wasn't going to say that now, because it would be a blatant lie, and she did know at least part of what she wanted from him. "I'm not toying with you, Severus," she replied softly, unable to keep all the hurt from her voice even if she did know that his request had merit.

His right hand moved to her face for a moment, and he touched her hesitantly, then dropped his hand back to her waist. "What is it that you want, then?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you…"

She closed her eyes. He was offering her the moon, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it. _Are you insane, Aislinn?_ His fingertips grazed her temple as he moved his hand over her hair. "I…" she began, and drew in a deep breath. _Tell him no,_came an urgent voice. _Tell him this is wrong, and then pick yourself up and **run** away from here._ She didn't want to run, though, She didn't want to pull away, to pick herself up, to walk away or run away or drive him away. She wanted to stay right where she was. _And tomorro,_ came that voice again, _when the wine is no longer fresh on your lips and muddling your senses, what will you wish you had done?_ "I don't want to think about tomorrow," she whispered, not even aware she'd said it aloud until the words had already left her lips.

Severus stiffened, and drew back from her, looking at her cynically for a moment. "You know," he said quietly after a long pause, "I'm told there are men the world over who would love to hear those words in this situation. Who wish that their nights ended in a tumble in bed with a beautiful woman who wanted nothing from them come morning. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

Aislinn's face was burning, and she couldn't meet his eyes as she nodded dumbly, reaching for her glass.

"How much of it is the wine?" he asked softly, his timing impeccable as the sweet liquid brushed her lips again.

"I don't know," she admitted, then drank deeply.

His hands were on her face again, palms against her cheeks and he tilted her head so she was eye to eye with him, but she still couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. Her eyelids snapped shut.

"Aislinn…" he whispered, his breath caressing her face. "Look at me." She felt an undesired stinging behind her eyelids, and kept her eyes closed. "_Look_ at me, Aislinn."

She finally opened her eyes, and looked into his. "Was that what you were telling me you wanted?" he repeated, "A night together, and then to go our separate ways. Tomorrow morning to pretend we shared nothing, that we are just friends."

She kept searching his voice and his eyes for… judgement perhaps, or scorn. Bitterness. She found nothing. "I should leave," she whispered hoarsely, pulling her face away from him.

He let her go easily, his hands dropping to drape over his knee. "Yes," he said softly, "you probably should. But do you _want_ to?"

Her eyes widened fractionally, and she stared, not entirely comprehending the question. "No," she admitted, "I don't want to."

He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of a finger, a velvet touch. "I don't want you to either," he whispered. She leaned towards him, and she thought she heard his breath catch just before she caught his lower lip between her own lips.

* * *

The flames had subsided, both the ones in the fireplace and the ones that had fueled their frantic actions, and now she was lying on her side, copper dancing in her chocolate hair as it spilled over her arm and pooled on the floor at her elbow. Her head was propped on her hand, her back to him as he lay on his side behind her, his fingers combing and twining through her hair. It was a peaceful moment, but the comfortable quiet was slowly fading into an awkward silence, as though they were both aware of what they had done, and neither was sure what to do next. Severus knew he certainly didn't.

Absurd as it seemed, he was glad for the quilt that was covering them; he wasn't sure he wanted her to see him now that their urgent needs had been mutually fulfilled. He was ridiculously hesitant to touch her, and yet reluctant to move away, so he contented himself with playing with her hair and wondering what she was thinking.

You could always ask her, came an unwelcomed, rational voice. Asking, however, seemed a little too mundane, and perhaps a little pathetic. He wished she would turn over and look at him. Somehow, he was convinced that it would be easier to look her in the eye again if he did it now than it would be if they managed to finish the night without eye contact, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted her to be able to see his face just now. He felt exceptionally vulnerable, a sentiment he had not anticipated. Sighing softly, he let his fingertip graze against her shoulder, and she raised her head, craning her neck to look back at him. He felt a stirring of arousal at the way her throat was bared when she was in that position, and it struck him as a decidedly silly thing to affect him, given the more tantalizing views he'd had only moments before.

His lustful stirrings, however, were interrupted as she suddenly yawned. A cat-like yawn, her mouth wide and tongue curling, entirely and unabashedly sincere, and he found himself smiling. "Tired?" he asked, and could have kicked himself for his stupidity. _Of couse she's tired, you nitwit! It's, what? Past two at least, and it isn't as though that was coffee you two have been drinking, and it's not like she's been napping all this time. She's either tired or bored, and if it's the latter, you don't really want confirmation of it, do you?_

Aislinn, however, was shifting slightly, and he once again became aware of just how close she was to him. "Let's just say that if I closed my eyes, I'd be asleep inside of two minutes," she replied softly, folding her arm back and leaning her head on her elbow.

"I see," he whispered, his eyes glittering with uncharacteristic mischief. "I've exhausted you, then?"

She laughed softly, and he was momentarily taken aback, not quite sure how to take that reaction. Her hand was on his arm, though, a fingertip outlining a muscle, and her laughter had faded to a smile. "Shall we say I'm a bit more relaxed than I have been in some time?" she asked softly, then slid her hand over his shoulder to his back. "Are you tired?"

And what kind of trick question is that? Yes, he supposed he was tired, and content, and relaxed, as she'd put it. And he knew that he was a touch away from burning desire that would put any fatigue to rest. "It's getting late," he commented softly, avoiding her question.

She laughed again, but this time, oddly enough, he didn't find himself questioning her motive for laughter. "Getting late, is it?" she asked, moving closer to him. He drew in his breath sharply as her body came into contact with his, but instead of an inferno, what he felt was a slow warmth, ready to be stoked into a blaze, yet equally suited for a slow simmer. "I thought I heard the clock chime one…" she said softly.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. "It's nearly three, I think," he admitted, and she started slightly. He tightened his embrace, though, and she stayed where she was.

Silence descended again, but it was comfortable again instead of awkward. The comfort of the silence, however, soon gave way to a most uncomfortable realization that they were still on the floor, and it was anything but soft. Severus shifted slightly, trying to find a better position, but the effort seemed futile. _So, what to do. If we get up, is she likely to get dressed and leave? Or could I entice her into the bed? Is the chance of the former worth the possibility of the latter?_

He combed his fingers through her hair again, and she snuggled closer. He felt his body reacting to her, and once again he was walking a fine line between satisfaction and arousal. Between discomfort and contentment. He ran his fingertips lightly down her spine and was rewarded with a small shiver, and he made his decision. "Would you like to move to the bed?" he whispered, letting his breath ruffle her hair. Such soft, beautiful hair. His fingers were drawn to it once again, and he marveled at the silky softness of the curls, how they ensnared his fingers and entangled his hands.

She looked at him and smiled again, but it was one of her more rueful smiles. "I should be going," she said softly, and he felt himself collapsing slightly.

Damn. Wrong choice. He nodded, though, but made no move to release her. And, he noted with satisfaction, she made no move to free herself, either. He let his fingertips trail along her shoulderblades, and down her back again, and she closed her eyes. His fingertips traced the curvature of her waist and hips, and for a moment, he considered a more direct approach to enticing her to stay. She moved suddenly, though, rolling over again, putting a few inches between them. He let his hand drop away from her, and the awkwardness returned.

After a moment, he sighed and sat up, then, taking advantage of her back being turned, stood and pulled on his trousers again. He leaned down to trail his fingertips over her lips once more, then picked up their glasses and the unopened bottle of sherry, and walked over to the sideboard, busying himself mostly with not looking at her. Faint whispering sounds told him she was making good use of the time, and he kept his back tastefully turned until he felt a touch on the back of his shoulder. When he turned around again, she was standing there, fully dressed if disheveled, her shoes in her hand, her hair still falling around her shoulders. _God, she's beautiful,_ he thought.

"I…" she didn't get very far with the thought, but he nodded, feeling he understood. There wasn't really much to say, after all, was there? They'd already said everything that needed saying. _A night together, and then to go our separate ways._ He wasn't ready for it to be morning, but it was, obviously.

He smiled, though he didn't feel like smiling, and touched her lips, laying two fingers over them. "Thank you," he whispered, "for a wonderful evening." He felt as though he should say something else, but he was entirely at a loss for words. What did this situation call for, anyway? Should he offer to walk her back to her own rooms? Should he invite her to come again? Should he…

"I don't really know what to say," she said quietly, echoing his thoughts so closely that for a moment he entertained the idea that she was 'hearing' him again. He put the ludicrous idea from his mind, though. _Of course, you expected that she has done this many a time, didn't you?_

"Say you'll stay a little longer." He didn't know where that request came from, and he immediately wished he hadn't said it. At least, he wished he hadn't until she nodded, hesitantly, and then his chagrin was replaced by a stunned relief. _One more chance, it seems._ He gestured back into the room, and she paused for a moment, glancing in the direction of the chairs, then at the fire. She moved to sit on the sofa, though, and Severus took her lead. She was at one end of it, and he at the other, and a gulf between them that he wouldn't have believed possible as little as ten minutes before… but it was a start. He couldn't help feeling it was a start from scratch, but it was a start. There was only silence from the other end of the sofa, and she tucked her feet under her, turning to face him. He sat at an angle as well.

"Can I ask why?" he asked quietly after a moment, and she looked momentarily confused. "Why you aren't interested in anything more than friendship. With _anybody_," he added, his lips quirking into a humorless smile as he emphasized the clarification the same way she had.

She shrugged slightly. "I suppose I'm tired of being hurt," she replied softly. "I'm horrible at setting boundaries for myself and sticking to them; and I probably shouldn't have told you that, of all people." She was smiling, which softened the words, but he couldn't help thinking she'd just told him, indirectly, that she didn't particularly trust him. "I get too involved, and then I get hurt when things don't work out. Easier to stay out of the rain than to try and avoid getting soaked in it."

And you accused me of being afraid to feel? He couldn't quite believe his ears, that the passionate and vivacious Aislinn was afraid of getting close? But, as he thought about it, it made sense, he supposed. She was rather like a butterfly, flitting around from person to person and task to task, but she'd made the comment once before that being still was torture to her, and he could make the connection that tying herself to one person would be equally confining. And perhaps it was fear that made it so difficult for her to commit to any one thing. "I see," he replied neutrally. "I suppose I could protest that I'm not going to hurt you, but I assume you've heard that before…"

She nodded. _Damn. _He'd actually been hoping that might work. "No one ever says 'come on, baby, I'll rip your heart out,'" she commented dryly, and he found himself chuckling a bit in spite of the general lack of humor in the situation.

"Unfortunate," he reflected. "It would certainly make it easier to sort out people's intentions if they were so honest."

She was smiling again, and shrugged slightly. "Maybe I'm naïve," she said softly, "but I don't think most people set out with the intention of hurting others. I think it's generally an unintentional side effect of the remarkable ability humans have to fool themselves that what is wrong is actually right."

Severus inclined his head slightly. "I suppose I'll concede that point to you," he replied, "we do seem to have a rather finely-honed ability to ignore what we don't want to see, don't we?"

Aislinn's smile was still not touching her eyes, but she noddded. "And to see what isnt there," she added. "I've seen it so often, and God knows I do it myself. I look at a pair of charts sometimes, and I see nothing there. No point of compatibility. There are things to look for, certain connections," she explained for his benefit, "and if they aren't there, it's so easy to dig around until you _find_ what you're looking for. 'So what if our moons don't mesh,'" her voice had taken on what was obviously a mocking tone, though he didn't catch the reference, "'just look at how the midpoint of my fifth house trines the bisect of his Venus-Mars sextile. That has to be an indication of passion.' It isn't," she told him, seeming to notice his expression.

"I gathered," he responded wryly.

"Immense ability to ignore what is right in front of our faces," she whispered, and he wondered if she had switched her topic of conversation again. She was looking at him, unseeing, and he wondered what it was she _did_ see. "To be so blind, and yet so discriminatingly perceptive. To bad we can't manage to be both at the same time."

A moment of silence, and she yawned again, and he found it contagious. Severus leaned forward, reaching for her hand. "Stay for the night," he whispered. "Nothing inappropriate," he assured her, "and if you want, I'll sleep here on the sofa and you can have the bed…"

She smiled slghtly, and placed her hand in his. "We live in the same castle, Severus," she said softly, "it isn't as though we're not likely to see each other again. Why do I need to stay here?"

He felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that she was so adamantly opposed to staying, but he nodded and let go of her hand. _I want you to stay so I can have one more chance to convince you that we don't have to go our separate ways,_ he wanted to tell her, but said nothing. _I want you to stay because I've never been so close to anyone as I have been to you tonight. I want you to stay because I want to know the comfort of you in my arms when I wake, for you to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes and the last thing I see before I close them. I want you to stay because I'm afraid that if you walk out that door, that the next time we see each other, it will be formality in the corridors again, and that it might take another three months to get you back in here, and I swear, Aislinn, if I could, I'd turn back time and we would never have stopped talking tonight. I'd give anything to be talking so frankly and openly again as we were a few hours ago._ Aloud, he finally said, "I don't guess I have any particularly convincing reasons. And I know this is what you said would happen. But…" he trailed away, and straightened.

She leaned forward this time, and didn't stop until she was near enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "I just need some time," she whispered, and then turned her face so her lips brushed against his cheek. "I just need some time to think," she told him, "and to put myself back in order."

That's what I'm afraid of.

"I promise you, Severus, we'll talk. Soon. But just now…" she interrupted herself with another yawn, and he stifled one of his own.

He nodded. "All right," he sighed, resigned. "I'm not going to argue with you. Not over this. Not tonight."

She smiled a bit, and touched his face. "Thank you," she whispered, standing.

"Don't mention it," he replied, not quite able to keep all the disappointment from his tone.

She paused for a moment, then bent to pick up her shoes. "Good night," she whispered, and he pulled himself to his feet, suddenly feeling very tired, as though the night and the wine were catching up to him all at once.

"Good night," he replied, walking her to the door. She slipped into the darkened corridor, and he closed the door behind her, leaning against it.


	25. The dreaded talk

The next morning did not find either Severus or Aislinn at breakfast, though Severus did make his way to his office mid-morning, and seated himself behind his desk for a bit of much-needed marking of papers. His mind was not on the task, though, and his heart was not in it, as he quickly discovered. His heart was waiting anxiously for either a reprieve or an execution, and he could concentrate on nothing else. Irritated with himself for being so distracted, he shoved the parchments aside and stood abruptly, stalking meaningfully to one of the cupboards and peering inside. He needed something to take his mind off Aislinn, and he could think of nothing that would do that so well as brewing a large cauldron of calming potion, which would certainly be useful soon enough as the pressure of NEWTs and OWLs began to weigh down on Seventh and Fifth year students.

He pulled the ingredients from the cupboard, setting them on a wooden tray, muttering to himself as he tried to exercise control over his mind. "You face the Dark Lord without flinching," he grumbled, "you have seen with your own eyes the worst things men and women are capable of. You have _participated_ in the worst things men and women are capable of. You maintain your composure in front of those dunderheaded students every day. You have kept your temper over that Defense Against the Dark Arts position for years. And yet, you cannot put one bloody woman from your mind for an hour."

He had finished removing the ingredients for the potion, and was heading into the classroom to set up on one of the tables where he would have more room to work, and drew a stool so he could sit. He reached for the bowl of willow root and a paring knife, and set to the laborious task of slicing the roots evenly and neatly, his mind at least momentarily occupied with the task. As so often happened when he was working, time slipped away from him and by the time he had finished the slicing of the roots, more than an hour had passed. As he picked through the roots, looking for any he might have missed or sliced too finely or left too coarse, Severus felt a certain satisfaction. Not a competitive satisfaction that he had spent only an hour slicing the entire bowl of roots when his students spent half an hour doing a tenth as many, for he had no reason to compete with his students. He, after all, was the master, the one teaching them. It stood to reason that he was more skilled than they. No, his was the satisfaction a baker must feel upon seeing a dozen perfectly formed cakes in his window. It was the satisfaction of a seamstress who had finished hemming a particularly tedious hem. A mason's approval of a newly-laid wall, and a gardener's appreciation of a blooming rose.

As he placed the roots aside, he was inundated with a pleasant awareness that he had not had to even up any of the roots, but had managed them all properly the first time. That was far from usual, though not unheard of. Potions required a precision that was not needed in other areas of study. In Transfiguration, for example, it was a matter of brute force, a single shot to produce perfection or imperfection. Charms were largely the same, with a great deal of effort and practice required to get them right, but in the end they were either right or wrong, and nothing could change a wrong charm into a right one. Potion-making, however, was a measure of precision and preparation, and, what likely accounted for the reason students so seldom found success with it, there was an almost illimitable opportunity to correct mistakes. Which meant, in Severus' opinion, that there was little excuse for imperfection. Where it could be excused if a student hadn't the ability to Transfigure a butterfly into a teacup (an exercise in uselessness, in the opinion of the potions master), there was no excuse for not cutting willow roots properly. Well, there were several, actually, but none that were acceptable. Carelessness was not a good reason.

Selecting a pair of narrow-ended tongs, Severus bent to the task of separating nettle thorns, sorting and selecting the fifty that were closest in size and shape. It was important that they were evenly sized, more important than that they were all large. Fifty small thorns would make a more predictable and potent potion than twenty-seven large ones and twenty-three small ones. Another subtlty that students seemed to have a difficult time grasping: the size of thorns had little to do with their potency, and yet, every year, he found students who thought selecting four large and one medium thorn was somehow favorable to five small ones.

Having separated the thorns, he picked up a large bottle of clear water, and held it up to the light, his keen eyes examining it carefully for any sign of impurity. It was dew collected under the new moon, and a powerful antidote to the emotional turmoil that begged a calming potion. Patience was required to collect such a large quantity. Patience and persistence. Every night when the moon was dark, Severus set up his condensing bowls to collect the dew, and he doggedly retrieved them well before sunrise so that there would be no risk of tainting by creatures who woke with the sun. Little was more frustrating than to find a robin bathing cheerily in a plate of dark-moon dew.

After assuring himself that the cauldron was immaculately clean and in perfect repair (the smallest crack could have enormous implications, after all) he measured out a precise quantity of the dew, and placed it in a cold cauldron, then set the pewter vessel over a low fire, watching the flames for a moment to reassure himself that they would not grow too hot as he turned back to his preparations.

His nible fingers selected a crystal phial (and he knew that crystal was far more accurate than glass, with fewer impurities, but Dumbledore constantly prevented him from insisting that students use crystal) and he held it up to the light, frowning slightly at a spot near the lip. He replaced the phial and selected another one, and held it up, turning it slowly in his fingers, then nodded, apparently satisfied with it. He filled it with a gleaming golden liquid and then set it aside, and selected a second phial, which he filled with a milky white substance. He glanced into the cauldron, and, noting that tiny bubbles were beginning to drift to the top, added the bowlful of willow roots and stirred it with a glass rod before finishing his measuring. Powdered wormwood, and twenty rose hips, then a large jug of wine, which he uncorked and sniffed at.

When he instructed his Fifth Year students on the making of this potion, he always told them that the wine they used had been infused with an irritant that would have them seeking out the nearest bathroom if they tried to drink it. And every year, the students believed him. And every year he told another batch of Seventh Years who were leaving Hogwarts that if they ever tried to brew a calming potion, they had best use un-contaminated wine, and admitted to them that he had misled them to keep them from drinking it. And somehow, if any of them ever revealed the duplicity, none of his Fifth Year students ever mentioned it.

He peered into the cauldron again, and, finding that the roots were growing limp, he added the phial of oil and the one of milky liquid (which, as it happened, was the juice of a particular plant that Sprout harvested large quantities of to make the milk for him). The infusion made the micture steam and hiss suddenly, and Severus added the rose hips, watching it carefully. There was only a small window of opportunity after the rose hips were added during which the nettle thorns could be introduced for maximum potency, and as soon as the liquid changed from the murky green to a brilliant gold, Severus dropped the thorns in and stirred the lot of it. He strengthened the fire and turned away to begin cleaning up, keeping a sharp eye on the cauldron for signs of a boil. As he deftly wiped away the mess from his cutting of roots (and noted with some exasperation that he had made far less mess with a bowlful than his students made with a cupful) he found his mind drifting back to Aislinn once more. The potion had taken his attention away from her for a while, but like clockwork, now that it did not require his focus, he was unable to keep images of her out of his head.

So entranced he was, in fact, that he almost forgot what he was doing until the prick of one of the unused nettle thorns startled him out of his stupor. "Bloody hell," he hissed, jerking his fingers away from the offending plants. He frowned at his finger; there was a small drop of blood on the end, and the skin was already red and angry looking. _I'll have to see if Pomfrey has anything for it,_ he decided, having no desire for his students to notice that he'd been careless as he'd so often scolded them for being. Resisting the urge to put the burning digit in his mouth (as wormwood, while not quite poisonous, produced certain side effects that were far from pleasant), he forced himself back to his cleaning.

Glancing in the cauldron again, he decided the time was right for the wine, and he emptied the jug into the drum and stirred it once more. The wormwood was the last thing to be added, and he sprinkled it evenly across the surface, not stirring it, and then picked up the tray to head back to his supply room to clean up.

And found himself face to face with Aislinn, and his mouth suddenly went dry. _How long have you been standing there?_ he longed to ask, but was loathe to admit that he'd had no idea she was anywhere around, so instead said softly, "It generally isn't polite to watch someone without making your presense known." He didn't think he'd missed a step when he saw her.

"You looked busy," she replied quietly with a slight shrug. "I didn't want to break your concentration in case what you were doing required your full attention."

He nodded, finding nothing to argue in her logic. "Then perhaps I should ask what you're doing here. Or is it such a slow morning that you had nothing better to do than come observe the preparation of calming potion?"

A hint of amusement flickered across her face, and with her next words, Severus discovered why. "It's afternoon," she replied, "and I didn't see you at lunch, so I thought I would come looking for you."

"And how did you know I was here?"

She shrugged again. "Lucky guess?" she suggested. It was Severus' turn to shrug. "Can I help you with that?"

He had reached the storeroom and his office, and she'd followed him there, and he looked at the tray. "If you like," he replied, and she stepped over to the sink, turning on the water and, he noted with a certain satisfaction, splashing the water around the basin and washing it lightly with her hand before putting a stopper in it. That was a habit he had to drill into his students, and it was marginally gratifying to know that even after seven years she still remembered that much. She added a mild detergent to the water and watched as the suds began to form, then turned her back on the basin, leaning against it while she rolled up her sleeves.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, a certain awkwardness touching her voice.

He nodded. "Did you?"

She smiled slightly. "Not a wink," she admitted quietly, glancing at the water level in the sink.

"Oh?" he inquired, "and why not?" He emptied the remnants of the willow root into a small container and set it aside; it could be boiled later for a pain killer.

"I was busy thinking," she replied softly, moving a stray tendril of hair from her face and stopping the water. He handed her the bowl the willow root had been in, almost holding his breath and wonderingi f he dared to ask.

"About…?" he prompted after a moment, and she became very interest in scrubbing at the bowl. Severus knew that bowl had been spotless, and there was nothing in the willow root that would have warranted such attention, but he said nothing about her industriousness, turning his attention to returning the unused nettle thorns to their jar.

"You," she replied finally, and for a moment he thought that he was going to have to root more out of her (a game he would not have appreciated.) She continued, though, unprompted. "Me. Life. What happened… what didn't happen…" she shrugged again, and Severus was struck by how graceful a gesture that was.

"Come to any conclusions?"

She laughed softly, almost a snort. "Only that it's a long and winding road without a clear destination and half past three in the morning is awfully late to start down it."

He smiled, handing her the pair of crystal phials, which he noted that she took with both hands, holding them carefully. _Good girl,_ he thought, then shoved the praise from his head. _She isn't your student anymore, and if that's how you think of her, then you're more depraved than even you would have thought._ He didn't think of her as a student, though. Certainly not now. She was a woman, who happened to have been a student of his at one time, and, he wasn't sure there was anything wrong with being impressed at how much she seemed to remember from his classes. Not, of couse, that he expected anything else from her. "How about," he paused and glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how far past noon it was, "a quarter to one in the afternoon? With company?" He finished replacing the unused ingredients and then walked over to stand beside her, picking up a drying cloth and leaning against the counter while he applied it to the bowl the willow roots had been in.

She smiled weakly at him, and picked up a soft brush to scrub the phial in her hand. "Might be more enjoyable," she conceded, "or it might be more difficult to stay on the right path."

He set the bowl aside and picked up the cup the rose hips had been in. "Then we'll have to make certain we keep each other on task. And not get distracted."

She nodded, rinsing the phial and holding it up to the light. Despite himself, Severus peered at it with her, and bit his tongue as he saw a spot in it. She saw it too, though, and he was pleased to see her returning it to the soapy water. "I'm not exactly sure where to begin," she admitted.

He nodded, picking up the cup the nettle had been in, and drying it, thoughtfully silent for a moment. "Perhaps with last night," he suggested softly. "And how much of what happened was a result of a bottle of Amontillado." She looked at him blankly for a moment. "Sherry," he clarified. "The variety we were drinking last night. A sweet variety, but no so sickeningly so as Oloroso."

She nodded and held the phial up to the light again, and frowned at the spot that was still in it. "You know a great deal about wine, don't you?" she asked, picking up the brush again.

He moved behind her and took the brush from her and held out his hand for the phial. "Allow me," he suggested, and once she'd relinquished it, he jammed the brush into the tube and scrubbed vigorously. "I made a point to learn about wines," he replied, answering her question. "It makes it easier to move in certain circles. A number of my acquaintances, in fact, would likely be unduly offended if I didn't offer them cognac, and doubly so if the cognac was not the best."

She snorted softly. "I can't say I know much of anything about wine," she told him. "I'm really more inclined to whiskey or scotch."

Severus gave the brush a deft twist, and then rinsed the phial, holding it up to examine it. The spot was gone. "That you know little of wine was quite obvious last night," he replied, and she blushed faintly. "Which brings me back to my question: did you, perhaps being unaccustomed to wine, succumb to it and do something you would not have done had you not been drinking?"

There was a silence for a moment, and Aislinn picked up the other phial. "I don't know," she replied finally, and he took a deep breath as he set to drying the first phial, the drying cloth draped over his wand so he could reach inside it.

"Thank you for being honest," he said softly. "So let us try another tactic. Would you do it again?" She jerked her head to look at him, her eyes indignantly wide, and he held up a hand. "I am not proposing anything, merely asking. Of curiosity. Think of it as a question from a well-meaning friend. Right now, sober—" he suddenly peered at her, "you are sober, aren't you?" at her nod, he nodded and continued, "then right now, sober, if you were in a similar situation, how do you think you would respond?"

She rinsed the second phial and held it up, and, satisfied with it, handed it to him. He couldn't help but examine it too, but found nothing to criticize. "Honestly?" she asked, and he nodded, almost fearing her answer, though somewhat more detached than he had thought himself capable of. "Sober, I wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with. I don't know what possessed me to…" she stopped abruptly.

"To…?" he prompted.

"To even bring it up."

He nodded, and set the second phial aside, then pointed at the board he'd been cutting the roots on. She picked it up and plunged it into the water, sloughing vigorously at it. "So you regret what we shared?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," she replied softly, slowing her scrubbing.

"Would you say that?"

She was quiet again.

"We'll come back to that later," he said quietly, deciding he wasn't sure he wanted to take that path just yet either. "So, I suppose we're back where we started."

Aislinn passed the cutting board to him and picked up the knife. "I don't regret it yet," she whispered, and he frowned at her, confused, "but I might before this conversation is over."

He snorted softly and took the knife from her. "Leave the jug," he told her, and she nodded. "I need to check on the potion." She followed him from the office and he approached the cauldron, peering inside and making a mental note of the progress before stirring it briskly and putting the rod aside again. Aislinn backed against one of the tables, then swung herself into a seated position on it.

"I value your friendship, Severus," she said quietly, and he looked at her, frowning slightly at her choice of seating, but saying nothing as he settled onto his stool again. "And I don't want to lose that friendship. And if that ends up being the cost of my recklessness last night…" she shook her head firmly, "then yes, I will regret it."

He touched her hand softly. "That isn't the cost, Aislinn. I hope you know that." She looked doubtful. "It _isn't_," he insisted. "Why are you so afraid it is?"

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and took a sudden interest in her fingernails. Severus watched her quietly as she examined her hands, and after a bit, she sighed. "It has been in the past," she whispered.

A frown flickered across his face. "What do you mean?" Her own frown deepened, and she seemed to sag a little on the table. Severus took her hand in his and squeezed it softly. "You can tell me," he urged. "I hope you know that."

She squeezed his hand back. "I know," she replied, no note of hesitation in her voice. "I just…" she sighed and pulled her hand away from him, and turned, sliding off the table on the other side, her back to him and the table between them. Not by accident, he was sure. "I can't say I'm particularly proud of that tendency," she confessed, "and I'm not so sure that it's going to leave you with an overly optimistic impression of me."

Severus stood and leaned across the table, touching her elbow. "I have been accused of many things," he told her, a sardonic smile touching his face, "but never of excessive optimism."

That brought a smile from her, which had been his intended result, and she turned to face him again. "I have a bad habit of fancying myself in love," she whispered quietly. "I suppose it's because I've never felt that anyone did love me, so…" she shrugged. "I make friends, and then I read more into them than they ever intended to exist. And then I open my big mouth and go _telling_ them about it. And it invariably ends in a… how did you put it last night? A tumble in bed, and then that's the end of it. A few words here and there, though no more than a nod to propriety, and then we drift apart. So I tell myself it won't happen again, and the next time I fall even harder, and harder still the next time…" She shoved a hand through her hair and grimaced as it caught in her bun, as though she'd forgotten she'd pulled it up. "So I guess I decided a long time ago that I'd stop letting men hurt me. I'd take what I wanted and…" her face was reddening, and Severus watched her carefully, trying to read what she wasn't saying. "And make ridiculous agreements. 'This is only with an understanding that there are no strings attached,'" she bit the words off, and Severus flinched. "And I've lost four dear friends like that," she whispered bitterly. "I don't think they ever truly believed it."

Just like I didn't, he thought, taking a moment to stir the potion again. As he set the rod aside once more, he moved away from it so he wouldn't be tempted to continue stirring it. "I see," he replied quietly.

"That was what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? That it was a one-shot offer, and now we return to normalcy. That's easier to accept than any other answer, isn't it?" She looked away, and leaned against the table. "I'm very good at telling people what they want to hear," she offered. "Or sometimes what I think they need to hear."

"And what about you?" he asked, walking towards her. "What do you want to hear me say?"

She smiled ruefully at him. "I can honestly say that I don't know. That was most of what kept me up all night." She straightened again and looked as though she might back away again, but she did not. She did, however, turn to face away from him. "Part of me wants you to tell me to get the hell away from you and leave you alone." She glanced over her shoulder at him, and gave him a level look, "to remove the temptation," she clarified, and he was almost glad she'd explained further. "Part of me wants you to come and sweep me off my feet with some more of that wine and a dozen roses." She frowned slightly and shook her head. "Don't do that, incidentally." He made a mental note to ask more about that later. "Part of me wants to pretend nothing ever happened, and for you to pretend nothing ever happened and for us to go on blissfully pretending that nothing has changed… except I don't think that would be so blissful." She folded her arms and looked up at the ceiling. "Part of me wishes you'd just tell me to shut up, and then kiss me so I can't possibly say another word and keep kissing me until I forget what I was saying anyway." She smiled apologetically in his direction, and he returned the smile, momentarily considering just that. "But the biggest part of me doesn't know what to think, or to want."

Severus took a step towards her and reached for her hand, pulling her closer. "Aislinn," he whispered, and she looked at him. He reached to pull her into his arms, an awkward movement on his part, but a sincere one. "I'm not going to tell you to get the hell away from me," he whispered into her hair above her ear, "because that would fall firmly into the category of cutting off one's nose to spite one's face." She made a noise that he hoped was laughter, because if it wasn't it was a sniffle, and he wasn't at all sure he would know what to do with a crying woman. Holding her was foreign enough. "And I'm not going to come crawling with roses, and I think we've had enough wine-soaked conversations for the time being, at least." She trembled slightly, and he felt a bubble of panic rising in his throat. "And tempting though it might be to kiss you so you can't say another word, I'm not going to do that either. I think that we need to be having this conversation, whether either of us wants to or not, for the sake of our sanity." He absently stroked her hair. "Pretending it never happened," he paused, and thought he felt her holding her breath. "It's probably the most realistic scenario," he admitted, "but I can't say I'm particularly enamored of the idea. Are you?"

He pulled away from her and tilted her chin up, so he could peer into her eyes. They were glistening, to his horror, behind a sheen of unshed tears. "No," she agreed, "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

He swallowed hard and pulled her close again, finding looking into her eyes a bit too difficult. "Good," he whispered. "Then how about this: we remain friends," she hugged him tightly suddenly, and he thought he felt her relax a bit in his arms, "and we don't worry too much about anything else. We'll see what happens in the next few days. Weeks. Years. Whatever," she was leaning against him now, and he was relaxing a bit too, stroking her hair. "And whatever you decide to do with it, I think I'll hold onto the memory of last night. Just in case I ever need a patronus." _Laugh,_ he begged her silently, _for the love of Merlin, laugh._ She shook softly, and he thought she was laughing, and pulled away from her again. She was laughing, but to his horror and confusion, she was also crying.

"No," he whispered, brushing his hand against her cheeks, "don't cry."

She closed her eyes and leaned into him again. "I want to cry," she whispered softly, and he grimaced. She buried her head against his shoulder, and he patted her hair awkwardly, not knowing what to do. "Just hold me," she whisered, reaching one hand to his neck. He tightened his embrace, and for the first time in his life, he felt that maybe he was a comfort to someone.

* * *

_Sorry I didn't update yesterday! I had to decide what was going to happen next, and while I was thinking that over, I added a short fic entitled 'Slytherin!'. So go read and review that one as well!_

_regarding having a lot of time: no, not really, Lady J. I have a full time job that requires a LOT of attention from me. As it happens, though, where most people spend time watching TV or such, I write. I find it cathartic. And I type fast and the story just sings in my head._


	26. Cleaning up

As he held her, Severus came to the slow realization that she was not shaking, and not making any noise at all. He stroked her hair, almost absently, wondering if she was all right and not really wanting to disrupt her, and utterly bewildered as to what had set her off to begin with. He'd been attempting humor, but it had obviously not worked. Except that she had laughed. Which would suggest it _had_ worked, but now she was crying and… and that led him right back where he started. And regardless, he was increasingly unsure that she was crying anyway now; when the girls in Slytherin cried it was always a noisy affair, full of incoherent sobs that made him step quietly out of the room and send a note to the girl by way of one of the House Elves that if she needed to discuss something with him, his door was open. Unsurprisingly, he'd never had one of them take him up on the offer. Unsurprising and not the slightest disappointing; Severus was no paternal figure and he didn't try to be and didn't desire to be. It was only duty that compelled him to even offer an ear.

Aislinn, of course, was not one of the Slytherin girls. She was very different from any of the girls he'd ever seen in his own House, when he was a student or when he was the Head. She was certainly nothing like Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange or the other women in their league. Aislinn had a genuineness that was, by turns, refreshing and terrifying. Never once, he realized, had he wondered if she was being honest with him. He may have wondered if she had ulterior motives, and he might have often wondered where she was going with something, but he'd never had to question her truthfulness. If she told him tomorrow that the sky had turned orange, he thought he might be rather more inclined to believe it than not. Not, of course, that he would ever tell her that.

In fact, the more he thought of it, Severus thought that she reminded him somewhat of Lily Potter. Only she'd been Lily Evans when he'd known her, and she'd had that big, genuine smile and a mouth that could flay a fish, and a stubborn streak a mile wide and a fiercely protective instinct that, as he got older, Severus thought he admired. He'd hated Lily Evans in as much as one could manage to hate such a pretty, vibrant and energetic girl. He'd held her in disdain as only a Slytherin could hold a Muggle-born in disdain. Odd, how that had seemed so important to him twenty years ago; now he didn't think he would know which of the students were Purebloods or not unless someone made a point of telling him. Which someone always did.

She shifted slightly in his arms, and he loosened his embrace a bit, regretting it when she pulled away from his. Her eyes were dry, and she didn't look particularly like she'd been crying for the last five minutes, but she was smiling now, and her eyes were a little brighter than normal. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, "I just…"

Severus shook his head and took her advice from earlier, leaning close and capturing her lips with his. An uncharacteristically impulsive action on his part, and, as her eyes widened, he belatedly remembered that they were supposed to be 'just friends' again. _Well, you might as well enjoy the fruits of your blunder,_ he thought, and wound a hand into her hair. After a moment, she slid her hands onto his shoulders and was pulling him closer again. _Memo to self: try this again some time; she doesn't seem to be objecting overly much._

When he finally pulled away from her—and he made a point to be the one to pull back from the kiss—he spoke before she had the chance to. "Never apologize to me for being honest with your heart," he whispered, lifting a hand, his fingers curling lightly against his palm, and brushing her cheek with the back of his fingertips. "And," he continued softly, "I'm sorry… I already forgot that we were…"

Her fingertips against his lips stopped his words, and she was smiling. "Don't apologize for that," she replied. "I don't want to spend forever apologizing for…" she trailed off, a meaningful pause descending. It might have been an uncomfortable silence, and there was a tension between them that he thought he could touch. And he was acutely aware, suddenly, that they were alone in the dungeons, and the possibility of anyone coming down there at this time of day on a Saturday was exceedingly slim. Tempting.

Severus stepped back from her suddenly, before temptation had a chance to take control of his actions. He walked to the cauldron where his Calming Potion was still simmering, and peered inside, then stirred it gently with the glass rod. He held the rod up, and let some of it drip from the end, and, nodding to himself, pointed his wand at the bottom of the cauldron, dousing the flames. "I need to bottle this," he told her, nodding at the cauldron, and she nodded in return.

"Can I help?" she offered, and he paused for a moment, looking a bit doubtful. If wine was delicate, then Calming Potion was fragile, and he couldn't imagine how the both of them would fill bottles from the same cauldron, anyway.

"You can carry one of the trays of bottles," he replied, and she nodded, reaching up to her hair and letting it down, then winding it back into its knot again. They made their silent procession into the supply room and he opened one of the cupboards, pointing at the top shelf. "Those bottles," he told her, moving off to another cupboard to retrieve other supplies. He watched her for a moment, vaguely impressed as she reached easily to the top shelf and pulled the bottles down two at a time. It was so odd to see a woman able to reach things he could only barely reach himself.

"How many?" she asked.

He retrieved a ladle and a funnel from one cupboard and was pulling down a pair of trays now. "Two dozen," he replied, glancing over his shoulder. She already had a dozen or so on the countertop, and paused to count, her fingers lightly touching each of the flasks in turn. He turned back to his own tasks, and picked up a small box of stoppers, then gathered the equipment and joined her, moving the flasks to the trays. They worked in silence for a moment, and then he picked up one of the trays. "Are you all right with that tray?" he asked, hooking his fingers around the ladle and funnel.

She nodded and picked it up, then, to his horror, balanced it on one hand as she picked up the bottle of stoppers. His mouth opened to protest, but she was already walking back into the classroom, and he snapped his lips shut, staring for a moment. The bottles weren't even clinking, she held the tray so steady. With a slight shrug and a mental note to keep her from doing that once they were full, he followed her back to the table where the cauldron was cooling. He dropped a funnel into one of the bottles, then dipped the ladle into the potion and filled the flask, handing it to her. "Put a stopper in it," he instructed unnecessarily, and they settled into a companionable silence .

Most of the tension had dissolved by the time they were half through, and suddenly Aislinn frowned at the flask he'd just given her. "This one isn't as full as the others," she told him, holding it up. "Does that matter?"

He looked at it, and frowned. She hadn't even put the flask on the table with the others; how could she know it wasn't as full? He took it from her and set it beside another of the flasks, having every intention of retorting that it was filled to the same level as the others were. But she was right, he noted, and, without a word he reinserted the funnel and added a bit more potion. "Is that better?" he asked sardonically, putting it back in her hands, and to his amusement, she held it up to eye level again and scrutinized the level of the liquid.

"Yes," she proclaimed after a moments' study, and put a stopper in it deftly, then set it aside with the other bottles. Severus frowned slightly and bent to check the level himself, not trusting her eyeballing it. It was level with the others.

"How do you do that?" he asked as he straightened, reaching for another bottle.

"Do what?"

"Eye the liquid level without comparing it to the other flasks?" He handed her another flask, and she put a stopper in it.

"Same way I eyeball pictures when I'm hanging them," she replied, suddenly smiling. "I'm just that good."

He snorted softly, but couldn't help but agree with her. They finished the bottling of the potions in silence, and, deciding to take a proactive stance, Severus pointed at the empty cauldron and the dirty ladle and funnel. "Can you take those?" he asked, picking up one of the trays, and she nodded, dumping the ladle and funnel into the cauldron. He led the way back to the supply room, and hurriedly put down the tray of flasks then pointed at the sink. "Do you want to start running the water?" he asked, and couldn't help but notice that she was grinning.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to prevent me from carrying any of those bottles," she teased him, but she was already turning on the water. "Chivalry, or fear I'll drop your precious potion?" She added detergent to the water and walked towards him, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

He opened his mouth to protest (despite her words being uncannily true) but she stopped him from speaking by placing a kiss squarely on his mouth. His eyes opened wide in surprise this time, but before he'd even had the time to move past the shock, she was pulling away again, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Go get those flasks!" she ordered, so harshly that he would have taken offense were it not for the laughter that threatened to invade her. He turned to go, however, but a sudden slap against his bum made him jump and he just stood there for a moment, not turning around, and the silence between them was suddenly not so companionable anymore.

To her credit, when Severus turned around, Aislinn looked as though she realized she'd just overstepped an unspoken boundary, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before smoothing her expression. He waited another moment before he spoke, a moment to ensure he would not be snapping her head off when he did. "Please," he said softly, his voice cold and with no note of pleading in it, "Do not do that again."

She opened her mouth as though to say something, but appeared to change her mind, and nodded mutely. Severus removed himself to the table where the last tray of flasks was sitting, and he took a moment to steady himself before he picked it up and headed back toward the supply room. _Don't overreact,_ he chastised himself. _Don't frighten her away from you. That is **not** the way to go about finding more than 'friendship' with her._

When he entered the supply room again, she was up to her elbows in soapy water again, a cloth in one hand and the ladle in the other. Placing the tray of flasks on the counter beside the first, Severus crossed the cramped room to stand behind her, and, almost impulsively, circled his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he whispered against her ear, and she made a gesture he couldn't have explained that felt almost like a hug despite the fact that her hands—and therefore her arms—were occupied in the water.

"I'm sorry, too," she replied, craning her head to look at him, their noses practically touching. "I wasn't thinking." She reached a damp, sudsy hand up to pat his cheek, and then bent back to her scrubbing again.

For a moment, he considered staying where he was, but he was still keenly aware that they were supposed to be 'just friends', and that 'just friends' did not normally nuzzle each others' necks while washing up after making calming potions. "Here, let me do that," he said, taking a step back from her, and rolling up his own sleeves. "I think you've done more than your share of washing up today," he told her, and she shrugged slightly.

He pulled the cauldron over and began scrubbing it clean, and Aislinn moved to pick up the towel, drying the ladle, but her eyes were on him. The silence became awkward, and her stare became nearly tangible, making him self-conscious as he scrubbed the cauldron one last time before rinsing it clean. While he was rinsing, she moved to pick up the cloth they'd been washing with and wrung it until it was only damp, then wiped down the counters and let out the water. As Severus dried the cauldron, he felt her eyes on him once more, and when he turned to look at her again, she was standing a few feet away, watching him with what he would swear was wariness. Her arms were folded in front of her, and every time he moved, her eyes followed him. As he tipped the cauldron onto a wedge of wood so it could dry in the air, he began to feel she was weighing him visually, and if she was, he couldn't imagine that he weighed up very well. He dried his hands on the towel and turned to her, leaning against another counter, half the room and a wall of silence between them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, though the answer was fairly obvious. There _was_ something wrong, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with their little exchange from moments before.

She was quiet for a moment, but he could nearly see the wheels turning in her head. She was thinking about something, and thinking hard, and choosing her words, he thought. Not a good sign. An hour earlier, they'd been speaking freely and honestly, but not two dozen words since he had let go of her. Finally, she seemed to reach a conclusion, and an instant later, she nodded. Thankfully, she didn't make him ask, but her question momentarily caught him off-guard with its simplicity.

"Why?" she asked softly.

His mind raced, looking for exactly what she was wanting from him, not wanting to give more than she was asking but wanting to satisfy her enough to make her believe that he was being open and honest. He couldn't believe that she meant anything other than his reaction to her playful smack from earlier, but that wasn't something he particularly wanted to discuss. "I…" he began, then faltered. "I suppose it reminded me of my childhood," he replied, and turned away from her. "My father… it's just hard to think of certain things as amusing, I guess, when…" He trailed off again for a moment, and took a deep breath. "I suppose I've taken one too many blows that were not in good fun to be appreciative of them…"

Had he been facing her, he might have seen the utter confusion on her face, and possibly spared himself an explanation she didn't need. His explanation was interrupted by her hand on his back, and when he turned to look at her, there was sympathy in her eyes. "No," she whispered, "not that. I realized almost as soon as I'd done it that I should not have, and why. You told me about your father, remember?"

He nodded, confused. Then what was she…? As though in answer to his unspoken question, she took his left hand, and lifted his arm, then traced her fingertips over the mark on his forearm.

"This," she whispered, and as her fingers touched the black image, he thought he felt her recoil a bit, but she kept her eyes on his. He cringed inwardly.

Pulling his hand away from her, he set about the task of rolling down his sleeves again, his mind racing and heart pounding. "Aislinn," he sighed at last, folding his arms again. "You have to realize that there are things I cannot tell you."

She leaned against the counter beside him, and he couldn't help but think that his covering the Dark Mark had set her at ease somehow. She was nodding. "Of course," she replied, her voice light but her eyes still watching him warily. "There are things I cannot—or rather will not—tell you. I'm not asking you to tell me those things you cannot share, only the ones you can."

He sighed again, though part of his mind was piqued by her subtle suggestion that she might have secrets of her own. He put the thought from his head, though, needing all his attention focused on answering her question without compromising his position. At length, he came to a conclusion. "Would you care to go for a walk, Aislinn?" he asked, and, when she gave him a confused look he held up his hands. "On my honor, if you believe I have any, I only intend to talk to you. Somewhere away from the castle, where we are less likely to be overheard or interrupted." The look she gave him was like a dagger to his heart, full of doubt and mistrust, but she nodded slowly.

"Very well," she whispered.


	27. Truth and consequences

As they walked out of the potions classroom and mounted the stairs leading them out of the dungeons, neither Severus nor Aislinn spoke. An astute observer might have noted with some interest that she had the look of a student once again, and the wary looks she kept shooting at the older professor might have been mistaken for trepidation of the prospect of a stern reprimand. The looks he kept giving her were suitably veiled that one might have thought he was holding his temper in check. There was little reason to believe that either of them had anything more daunting on their minds than some mishap in the dungeons.

Assuming, of course, that anyone had seen them, which no one did. It was one of the Hogsmeade weekends for the older students, and most of the younger students were ensconced in their respective common rooms, playing wizards' chess and trading cards. Most of the staff was finding refuge from the perpetual onslaught of students, locked away in offices and personal quarters, reading or grading papers or just pretending that for the moment at least, there were no students at Hogwarts. Even the ghosts seemed conspicuously absent as Severus led Aislinn to the door, and opened it.

A blast of bitterly cold wind assaulted the two of them as the door opened, and Aislinn stopped suddenly.

"What is it?" Severus asked, pausing on the threshold.

"It's cold, that's what it is," she muttered, folding her arms across her stomach. "Can't we talk in your rooms? Or mine? Or my office? The astronomy tower?" Her voice was taking on a slight note of hysteria, and Severus smiled slightly.

"I'd rather not discuss these things very many places in the castle," he replied softly. "Though perhaps we could persuade Dumbledore to allow us the use of his office…"

Aislinn scowled; that was obviously not an answer she'd wanted to hear, and for a moment Severus could almost hear her turning over the possibility of telling him to forget she'd asked, that she didn't want to know badly enough to face the December wind. She sighed, resigned. "Then at least let me get my cloak," she muttered.

Severus put an arm around her. "We'll only be out in the wind for a moment," he whispered. "It will take you longer to get you cloak than it will to walk to where we're going."

She frowned, and for a dreadful moment, he thought she might actually cry again. There was something about her face that shot pain through his heart, but she visibly steeled herself and nodded, and in a fit of something resembling chivalry, Severus shrugged off his black robe and dropped it around her shoulders. "Come on," he whispered, and they stepped into the wind.

True to his word, it was only a couple of minutes before Severus was leading Aislinn into the Dark Forrest, the trees blocking the worst of the wind so that there was only a chill that hung in the air. He glanced around, and then pointed to a small stone against one of the trees. "A portkey," he explained, pulling her over to it. He knelt, and she did too, then he took her hand and touched the rock and they were tossed into the oblivion that was traveling via portkey. When the world came to a halt again, it was a different world. A brighter world, with a warm sun.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around, and Severus smiled, crooking his arm and offering her his elbow.

"An island," he replied, "in the Indian Ocean. One that is not inhabited. Too small to be developed," he explained. "And a place that a dear friend of mine introduced me to many years ago, when I needed such a place to gather my thoughts, far away from the world."

Aislinn looked at him, confusion etched plainly on her face.

"Dumbledore," he replied to her unspoken question. "One of the many gifts he has given me over the years. One that has only been surpassed by his trust and the second chance he offered me." He doubted she was too slow to realize what he was doing, suggesting that Dumbledore trusted him and she could do worse than put her faith with the Headmaster. He was willing to use any tactic at his disposal to regain her trust. _And what made her suddenly so distrustful?_ He couldn't help but wonder about that. After all, they had shared… well, suffice to say that she hadn't been unaware of the mark on his arm the night before. She hadn't been unaware of it before she joined him in his rooms, in fact, so why she chose now to be so fearful was beyond him.

He led her to a small bluff, which overlooked the ocean which lapped happily at the shore, and reached to take his robe from her shoulders. He spread the black garment on the ground and settled onto it, patting the ground at his side. "Sit with me?" he invited, and she hesitated, but sat. And sat close enough, he noted, that he could have easily shifted an inch or so and pulled her into his arms. He refrained. "Let's see," he began, taking a deep breath and picking a small, smooth stone from the ground. He turned the pebble over in his hand a few times, looking thoughtfully at the ocean. "Where to begin."

He frowned in concentration, then nodded to himself. "I suppose that coming to Hogwarts is a logical place," he said, sparing a glance at Aislinn. She smiled a little doubtfully, but nodded, and he stifled another sigh, looking away from her again and telling himself not to look at her if it was going to upset him. "I was eleven, obviously, when I came, and if you think I'm socially inept now, you should have seen me then. I'm practically a social butterfly now by comparison. I'd never been around other children, or other people for that matter, save my mother and father. Had no idea how to conduct myself, and spent more time with my nose in a book than anywhere else. I was all but a light fixture in the library that first year.

"And of couse there were other kids who picked on me. I was, after all, an esay and unwitting target. So many things that I should have learned from my parents, but never did. I might as well have grown up as a Muggle, for all I knew about the wizarding world. And yet I knew about curses and hexes, which turned out to be my saving grace. Or perhaps my downfall, depending on how you look at it." He suddenly threw the stone he'd been holding, and watched as it skipped over the bluff. "When I was a boy, I used to dream about killing my father," he admitted softly. "And I had an entire armory of curses and hexes in my head, just waiting for the opportunity to use them. By the end of that first autumn, though, I had practiced a few of them on my more irritating classmates." Four in particular, but Severus had already decided to leave those four Gryffindors out of this as much as he could. "So, I earned a reputation. Greasy little git," he nodded at her again, a smirk on his face, "same as it is now, except not so little anymore, eh? Well, back then, I was considerably greasier, and much less aware of it. Greasy little git, but not the kind you'd want to say that to his face. Not unless you wanted to be going to Madame Pomfrey with some embarassing complaint.

"Anyway, I was miserable, and failing miserably at Hogwarts. Not at the classes, mind you—I had little else to do but study, so my grades were quite impressive—but at growing into a well-adjusted young man…" he shook his head. "But, then something happened for which I am simultaneously grateful and regretful of. Incidentally, Aislinn, have you ever met Lucius Malfoy?"

Aislinn shook her head. "No," she replied softly. "He is the sort of wizard my parents kept me away from, afraid I'd make a bad impression."

Severus snorted softly. "Well, suffice to say that he is an exceptionally gracious man. In fact, there are many boys at Hogwarts right now who could do worse than pattern their behaviour after him. Do not mistake me," Severus turned towards her suddenly, and his eyes were keenly focused on her. "Lucius is evil incarnate, and smooth as silk even when he's insulting you, and he has done things for which I doubt the devil himself would forgive him. But he has a knowledge of the world, a civililty, that is severly lacking in most. It's one of the true ironies of the world that a man so ruthless and so cruel could be so…" he trailed off, looking for a word. "So admirable. Anyway, you might say he took me under his wing."

* * *

Lunchtime, Severus was convinced, was a ploy developed by insensitive louts with a sickened sense of humor. It was when kids who were popular congregated into chattering clusters for the sole purpose of separating themselves from those who were unpopular. Friends gathered around their spaces at the long tables, the seats they always occupied, and woe be his who inadvertantly seated himself in someone else's territory.

At fifteen, Severus felt the stings of isolation more than he ever had. He had always been alone, and had often been lonely, and had long been aware that alone and lonely were not the same thing. He'd grown up isolated from the rest of the world, shut off by merit of his family, which was truly a disgrace to the wiazrding world, however one measured disgrace. If there had been a sense of wonder in young Severus' eyes when he came to Hogwarts as an eleven-year-old child, that wonder had disappeared by now, and he was left only with a painful awareness that he was an outcast. He had no friends. He had no one who even pretended to be his friend. There were a handful of Slytherins who would talk to him now and again, but usually only when they wanted something.

Lunchtime, however, was a time for true friends. Not for those fairweather friends who crawled out of the woodwork when essays were due or when exams loomed before them. Clutching a small stack of books, Severus found an empty place at the Slytherin table, finding that for the third time in a month, one of the groups had expanded to swallow the seat he had been occupying. As the school year progressed, and the years crept by at a slug's pace, it seemed that the groups were consolidating, merging, growing ever larger. Where there had been a dozen groups of three or four friends during their First Year, by now there were only three groups of Fifth-Year Slytherins all together. Three groups, and Severus.

As usual, he spent lunch reading, this time pouring over his notes from herbology, and when the hooting of the arriving owl post drifted through the Great Hall, Severus didn't even look up. After all, he had never once gotten any owl post, so there was no reason to think he would now. Behind him, he could hear the laughter and mounting din of students receiving and opening their mail, and the Slytherin table was no exception. Severus ignored it as best he could, a feat which looked more successful than it was. He might not have batted an eyelash, but he was acutely aware of the crescendo of babble at the table, and the pleased cries of surprise as mail was opened. He flipped over the page he was reading.

Before he could begin on the first line, however, something fluttered onto the table in front of him, and he looked up, frowning. A majestic eagle owl was standing stately before him, a small envelope in its beak. It hooted softly, and Severus looked around, certain that there must be some mistake. The owl hooted again, though, and Severus reached for the envelope, bracing himself for the owl to suddenly flap away, or for the envelope to explode. It had to be a prank of some sort. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes seeking out those four miserable Gryffindors, but they weren't paying him the least bit of attention.

As soon as he had the envelope in his hands, the owl hooted again and flapped away. Flipping over the letter, he felt his heart surge slightly. **Severus Snape, Slytherin House**, it said in a careful and elegant script. Glancing around once more, he slid a finger under the seal—a vibrant emerald green imprinted with an 'M' entwined with a pair of serpents—and broke the waxen stamp. The letter inside was printed on a parchment fine enough that even Severus' untrained eye could recognize it as quality.

Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy request the pleasure of your company at a dinner celebration of the holiday season at Maple Glen, on Saturday, 18th December at 6 o'clock. The Malfoys extend their invitation to an overnight stay at the manor, followed by breakfast on Sunday, the 19th.

Severus stared blankly at the invitation for a moment, then looked to his right, where he realized another group of Slytherins were holding their invitations as well. All the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Year Slytherins, apparently, had received an invitation, a fact which dampened his pleasure at having received one, but was not enough to completely snuff his elation. Behind the invitation was a smaller envelope, and a card emblazoned with the letters 'RSVP' but was otherwise blank.

Hiding a smile, Severus tucked the invitation into one of his books and went back to his reading, deciding he would work out what to do with the RSVP card later.

Four days after Severus returned his RSVP to the Malfoys, another owl sought him out at lunchtime, and for the second time in a week, Severus Snape had post. He recognized the parchment, and the elegant script on the front of it as belonging to the Malfoys again, and he found his heart thudding uncontrollably as he opened the letter, expecting to find a sneering apology telling him he had been invited to the party by accident. Instead, it was a letter from Lucius himself, inviting him to come to the Malfoy manor nearly a week before the other guests were to arrive. As classes would have already ended for the term by that time, Severus lost no time in penning his reply, that he would be honored to come.

hr

When he was finally standing at the front gates of the imposing mansion that the Malfoys had long called home, Severus found himself wondering if this had really been such a good idea, after all. He had no idea what to do now. Should he knock somehow? Or just open the gate and admit himself? Or should he just stand there until someone took pity on him? As it happened, he didn't have time to contemplate the matter for very long before the third of the three options happened to him, and a gardener appeared, seemingly from nowhere, to open the gate. As Severus walked past, he was acutely aware that the gardener was looking down his extraordinarily crooked nose at the young intruder.

"You must be Master Severus," the gardener growled, putting an emphasis on 'master' that made even a fifteen-year-old boy aware that he was being mocked. "Go on up to the House, they are waiting for you." Severus murmured a word of thanks and set his jaw and his mind, and walked briskly up the shrub-lined path to the house. As he reached the door, it opened, indicating that 'they', indeed, were waiting on him. And 'they' were, obviously, not the Malfoys. He was greeted by another small legion of cold and self-important servents, including a butler who did no more than look at him before grimacing distastefully and clapping his gloved hands. Two House Elves appeared immediately, and the butler issued brief orders.

"Minnie, please inform Master Lucius that his…" there was a pause as the butler looked Severus up and down as though trying to decide how best to describe him. "that his **guest** has arrived. Gory, take **Master** Severus upstairs and… attend his needs." The female elf curtsied and bounded off, and the male bowed low to Severus.

"This way, Master Severus," he said, the first servant of the Malfy Manor not to scoff at calling him 'master'. "Gory is showing Master Severus to his rooms."

Severus looked at the small pack of servants who were still looking down their collective noses at him, then followed the House Elf up a flight of broad stairs. Higher and higher they climbed, into the fourth level of the manor, before Gory turned and indicated that Severus should precede him to the corridor on the right. Severus took a few steps in that direction, and tried, unsuccessfully, not to look over his shoulder when he heard the corridor door shut. Gory, however, was still there, and he scuttled back in front of Severus, leading the way to the end of the corridor and a room on the left.

In later years, Severus would know that he had been showed to a wing that housed primarily servants, but at that moment, when he entered the room, it was the biggest and most gracious room he had ever seen, and he felt, momentarily, like a king. The bed was bigger than any he'd ever seen, and covered with lush bedding that looked soft and inviting. There was a soft chair, and a bookcase filled with books, and a dressing table with a small array of toiletries on it. A door stood ajar, and beyond that door was a bathroom, where Gory had already begun filling the massive tub with hot water.

"Master Severus is to have his bath now," Gory said, coming back out of the bathroom and taking the tatty old suitcase from Severus' hands. Severus let go of it, a sudden sinking feeling overtaking him. Was it possible that Lucius Malfoy had invited him all the way to the Malfoy Manor just for the pleasure of the old jokes about the greasy Slytherin?

Gory, however, was ushering him into the bathroom, and before he knew it, Severus was in the tub, the elf's long fingers kneading at his scalp and then dunking his head under the water. He had tried to protest that he was perfectly capable of bathing himself, but that suggestion had set the House Elf to wailing something largely incoherent. What part of it Severus could gather between the sobs and the moans was that he had offended the elf by suggesting such a thing, and he had given in rather than endure the carrying on.

Just when Severus thought Gory was finished with him (and he was convinced the little monster was trying to take off his scalp), the House Elf had let out the water and proceded to run a **second** tubfull, into which Severus found himself resigned stepping. He had no more than settled into the water when there was a knock on the bedroom door, and, before he could answer, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy admitted himself, rather regally, and snapped his fingers. Gory skittered to draw the chair from the bedroom into the bathroom, and Lucius seated himself as though it were perfectly normal for him to be sitting in on a Fifth-Year Slytherin's bath.

"Ah, Severus," he said smoothly. "So glad you were able to come. I trust your year is going well at Hogwarts?"

Later memories would tell Severus that the entire conversation was almost surreal, as Lucius sat regally as a king on his throne and Severus was at the mercy of a none-too-gentle House Elf who poked and prodded and scrubbed and washed without the least regards for his subject's pride. And yet, it seemed almost natural, and the conversation took a turn to his classes, then to his classmates. Lucius laughed delightedly as Severus admitted to a nose-hair growing curse on Sirius Black. He seemed interested in the high marks the student had received in all his classes so far, and listened patiently as Severus described the last book he had read, and encouraged the boy to talk about his skill with potions, which was quickly emerging as legendary at Hogwarts.

By the time Severus' bath had ended, there was almost a sense that he and Lucius were old friends, and the Malfoy heir had discreetly busied himself with a book while Gory urged Severus from the tub and into his best robes, which were still in a state of woefull disrepair. As if by cue, Lucius turned around again when Severus was dressed, apparently having lost interest in the book he'd been perusing, and as his grey eyes swept over Severus, there was a slight frown to his face.

"You and I will be venturing to Diagon Alley tomorrow, I believe," Lucius commented, almost offhand. "But for now…" he looked to the House Elf. "Gory, do go see if you cannot find something more suitable among my old robes. I believe the ones I wore when I was a Fourth-Year might not fit him too poorly."

Severus' face burned at the gesture, but he murmured a work of thanks to the pale-haired aristocrat.

"Not at all, Severus, and tomorrow we will find you some decent ones. It is disgraceful that you haven't better than this," he gestured at the robe Severus was wearing. Somehow, though, the comment did not seem malicious at all. "Now, Severus, as to why you are here… I think you show much promise, but there will be little opportunity for you in the wizarding world if you do not learn a few manners. Now, I don't blame you at all, of couse; your parents should have seen to your education. But, seeing as they did not, I have taken it upon myself to see that you do not end up in the owlery like your father. You have too much potential for that, Severus."

Just then, the door opened again, and Gory returned with a charcoal-colored robe across his arms. Lucius smiled. "Excellent. When Master Severus is dressed, Gory, see him down to the dining room." Gory bowed, and Lucius swept out of the room.

* * *

"Lucius and Narcissa and Lucius' mother spent the next week tutoring me," Severus said quietly, blinking as he realized that at some point during his story he had picked up another smooth pebble and was rubbing his thumb over it. "How to walk, how to hold my wine glass, which fork to use, how to dance. True to his word, Lucius took me to Diagon Alley and bought me two new robes, and told me that I would repay him by being a great wizard. I think they were afraid I would embarrass them during the party," Severus confided quietly, and Aislinn smiled a bit. Some of the fear seemed to have left her expression.

"They hosted me at Easter that year, and over the summer, and when my OWL marks came in, they celebrated my achievements. They taught me to speak properly, schooled me in the arts and inducted me to the political world. Much of who I am, much of what you see, was shaped by the Malfoys. And they never missed the chance to tell me how my father had failed me.

"They saw something in me, they claimed, and I suppose it was true. They saw a hatred that they could mold and focus, hone to a fine edge. Over the Christmas holidays of my Sixth Year, Lucius introduced me to the Dark Lord, and my fate was sealed. He gave me the means to kill my father, and he saw to it that I had the opportunity, and I would not have denied it if I could have." This last was said with a certain soft finality. One that suggested that given the chance to live his life over again, that was one decision Severus might not have changed. "I was accepted as a Death Eater before I went back to Hogwarts," he whispered softly. "And as a task to prove my loyalty, I was set to kill my mother as well." Severus was staring blankly at the water, not really seeing it. His eyes were focused on the woman he had freed from his father only to point his wand at her chest and mutter, 'Avada Kedavra'. That, however, was a curse that one had to _mean_ for it to work, and he had not meant it. As punishment for his weakness, he had been forced to watch as two other Death Eaters aimed the Cruciatus Curse at his mother, and tortured her until she begged for death.

He felt a hand on his arm, and he turned hollow eyes to Aislinn. "They used you," she whispered, squeezing his arm. "They manipulated you. And you know as well as I do that a sixteen-year-old boy cannot be held responsible for…"

Severus placed his hand on hers and squeezed back. "Yes," he whispered, "a sixteen-year-old boy can be held responsible for the choices he makes. Even if he was too stupid to realize he was making them."

They were silent for a moment, but Severus thought that some of their intimacy had returned, though that might have been wishful thinking on his part fueled by Aislinn's hand on his arm. After a moment, he took a deep breath and started again. "I was a loyal Death Eater," he cringed over those words, "for nearly five years. Then, the plots began against the Potters and Longbottoms, and, while I can honestly say I couldn't have cared less what happened to James Potter, Lily had always been…" Severus shrugged. "She was nice. If I'd known then what I know now, I might have asked her for a dance," he mused, "but when we were in school, all that I could see was that she was a _Mudblood_." He smiled apologetically at Aislinn, who nodded. "The Longbottoms… I had no quarrel with them, and what was more, they _were_ Purebloods. But, perhaps the most discouraging was that Sirius Black, whom I detested as much as Potter, was not being targeted. I suppose I had a long think over that. Potter was not a Pureblood, and he had married a Muggle, so of couse they were targets. The Longbottoms, though Purebloods, were targets because they were fighting against the Dark Lord. But Black… he was a Pureblood, and he was fighting along side the others against us, and he was not a target. And the more I thought about it, and the others we had killed, the more it seemed we were fulfilling personal vendettas. And one thought led to another and…" he shrugged once more. "A lot of people speculate that my returning to Dumbledore was an emotional decision," he said softly, "but I have to admit that it was not. It was the most rational thing I have ever done. I had that moment of clarity, when I realized that I was playing into their hands, and I was _hurting_ other people while I did it. And that was inexcusable."

He drew his knees up, and draped his arms over them, still staring into the sea. "So I went to Dumbledore. I knew that my fate was Azkaban, but…" he shrugged. "I suppose I do have something akin to decency in me. If it hadn't been the _Longbottoms_," he whispered. "I had no quarrel with them. Anyhow, Dumbledore took my information. He kept me at Hogwarts, and waited for a month, and some of the things I'd told him began to pan out. So he asked me to be a spy for them." Severus was skipping over a _lot_ of details, but he was being, in essence, honest with Aislinn. And he doubted she was taking his words for the whole truth anyway. "And after the Dark Lord seemed to be dead, he cleared my name and gave me a position at Hogwarts."

Severus turned to look at Aislinn again, and he looked beseechingly into her eyes. "Dumbledore gave me a second chance when I had so squandered my first," he whispered. "He placed his trust and faith in me, and I would never do anything to endanger that. Ever."

Aislinn nodded slowly, and for a moment, Severus couldn't tell if she believed him or not. Or if she was appalled with him now, or… She touched his hand, and he turned his palm up, grasping hers. "Thank you," she whispered, moving closer to him and sliding her arms around him.

As he pulled her into his arms, he breated a sigh of relief, inhaling the scent of her hair and relaxing in the firm embrace of her arms. And for the second night in a row, this time without the intoxicating help of sherry, Severus and Aislinn found themselves seeking release with one another.


	28. Shooting stars and cold feet

When they returned to Hogwarts, it had grown late. The sky was black, and not a cloud marred veiled the twinkling stars. The air was cold, and crisp, but clean-feeling, somehow, and despite being cold, Aislinn knew that there was a smile on her face. It had been a long day, of course, but she felt better for it, somehow, despite the fact that she was so tired she could barely stand. In fact, she wasn't really sure what _was_ keeping her standing. Severus, perhaps, with his hand under her elbow. Or sheer dint of will as she walked along, stepping through the shifting islands of moonlight that drifted through the winter-bare trees.

A movement in the heavens caught her eye, and she suddenly stopped and tugged on Severus' sleeve. "Look!" she whispered, pointing up at the sky. "Make a wish, quick!" The shooting star blazed brightly, then faded into darkness, leaving a glowing afterimage arching behind it.

For a moment, Severus looked at her blankly, and then the darkness could not hide his smile. "You don't really believe in that, do you?"

"In what?" she asked, sliding her hand onto his arm once more.

"Wishing on a star?" he asked, and his voice held the same skepticism that she'd heard when he was asking her if she really believed in astrology.

"You would probably be surprised at the things I believe," she whispered.

"Probably," he agreed, imprisoned laughter adding a fringe of humor to his soft, dry tone. "But I'd love to hear them some time."

Aislinn laughed softly. "Well," she whispered, "let's see. I believe in four-leaf clovers…" he snorted softly, "and in wishing wells, and Santa Claus, and…"

"_Santa Clause?!"_ He didn't even try to hide his humor that time, and Aislinn, in a fit of juvenile petulance, stuck her tongue out at him.

"And why not?" she asked, stopping, her feet planted firmly into the silver-frosted, winter-bleached grass. Between the moonlight and the glow of the frost, the world seemed a little brighter somehow, and Severus stood out against it in stark relief.

"Because they're preposterous!" he replied, still laughing. "Santa Claus? Merlin's beard, Aislinn, I could take the Astrology, and I suppose the shooting star has a romance to it, and the four-leaf clover is quaint and the wishing well intriguing… but _Santa Claus?_"

Aislinn put her hands on her hips. "Yes, Santa Claus! What, may I ask, is wrong with Santa Claus?"

For a long moment, Severus stared at her, and then shook his head slightly. "Nothing at all," he whispered, bending to kiss her softly, and as she surrendered to his kiss, she felt herself smiling. He must have felt it, for he pulled back from her and lifted an eyebrow. "Something amusing?" he inquired softly.

She laughed and leaned close to him, blowing a soft caress of warm breath against his ear. "My wish just came true," she whispered, her breath making puffs of white in the night. She winked at him, and started walking again, leaving him to stand there, dumbfounded for a moment, and then rushing to catch up with her.

"What do you mean?" he asked when he reached her side again.

She grinned at him and reached for his hand, smiling as their fingers laced together. "Well," she replied, her voice full of carefully conjured hesitation, "one normally doesn't tell what one wishes for, because it supposedly breaks the spell, you know."

He snorted again softly, and she squeezed his fingers.

"But I suppose that since my wish already came true, it wouldn't hurt." She paused again and pulled him closer, slipping her arms around his neck. "I wished that a certain someone would kiss me," she confessed quietly, looking into his eyes.

He lifted a hand to her face, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingertips. "If that is what you wish, my lady, all you need do is tell me." He leaned forward again, and their lips touched once more.

She pulled away from him, and slipped her hand into his again, and they walked in silence for a moment, and then, once again, movement caught her eye. She pointed. "Look," she whispered, and his head turned to follow her gaze. The bright pinpoint of light had grown more brilliant, then, just as the previous one, it suddenly arched downward and faded into the night. "That's uncommon," she said softly. "Two so close together."

He squeezed her hand again. "Did you make a wish?" he asked, and though the humor was edging his voice again, it wasn't quite as taunting as it had been a moment before.

She smiled saucily at him. "I did," she replied evenly. "Did you?"

"And what if I did?"

It was her turn to raise a surprised eyebrow. "If you did, I could have a lot of fun trying to find out what it was and to make a believer of you."

"So arrogant, aren't you?" he asked, grinning. "And what makes you think it involved you?" She sputtered for a moment, then laughed, and he slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Come on," he whispered in her ear, "it's too cold for us to be lingering out here."

She shot him a look of profound and exaggerated innocence. "Is it cold?" she asked. "Funny, I hadn't noticed it."

He snorted softly again. "And I suppose that's why you're shivering?"

They covered a few more yards before a third blaze of light flared before them, and this time Aislinn stopped in her tracks. "How peculiar," she whispered, quickly defining her silent wish before the shooting star vanished again.

Severus tugged softly at her arm. "Inside," he whispered urgently, guiding her along. "It is too cold to be standing out here. We'll both be frostbitten."

"Nonsense," she replied, almost absently, "it isn't _that_ cold. It would take us half an hour to get frostbite."

"And how long have we spent walking already?" he inquired softly.

She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Not half an hour," she replied.

"No, but I'd say a good fifteen minutes, and we're barely halfway back to the castle. Come on," he tugged her arm again. "Neither of us is dressed for this."

She sighed softly, and wondered if it really had been that long. Surely not. After all, it had only taken them a couple of minutes to walk from the castle to the forest before, so why should it take so long to walk back? _Maybe because you keep stopping to make wishes on shooting stars, and to kiss him, and because you're generally piddling._ She quickened her pace, though, and they were nearly within the courtyard when yet another shooting star illuminated the sky, and she turned around, looking back towards the woods.

"Severus, look," she whispered, softly, pointing.

He sighed softly and turned around, and when she glanced at his face, he was frowning and muttering something to himself.

"What is it?" she asked.

"What is today?" he asked in reply, and she stared at him for a moment.

"Saturday…"

"The date."

She frowned in concentration for a moment. "The eleventh," she proclaimed after a brief silence. "Why?"

His frown deepened. "Dumbledore said it wasn't until the thirteenth," he muttered.

"What wasn't?"

Finally he turned to look at her. "A meteor shower," he replied vaguely. "He… er… that is, I was going to ask you if you would like to have a very early breakfast in the astronomy tower on Monday morning."

Aislinn smiled slightly. "I'd love to," she replied.

He laughed a little bitterly. "But if it's happening now…"

She tugged softly at his hand. "It probably peaks early Monday morning," she replied, shrugging slightly. "They're usually at their most brilliant in predawn hours, but they generally last a few days."

Another pair of meteors shot from a common origin and then separated, leaving two distinct blazing trails behind them. "Was that worth two wishes?" he asked softly, and when Aislinn looked at him, her eyes searching his face, she found no hint of mocking.

"I suppose so," she whispered. "I don't know that there are many rules to wishing."

He nodded, and then turned to her again, and took her hands in his. Again, there was no conscious decision, and it would have been difficult to say which of them originated the kiss, but soon she was running her hands through his hair, pulling his head closer to her, unmindful of the chill in the air, or of the glimmering of sporadic shooting stars.

He broke contact, finally, and whispered, his head still leaning against hers, "We _need_ to go inside."

She sighed softly, but nodded, knowing that he was right. Already her fingers were beginning to feel numb, and her toes too. The cold seemed to be seeping into her like water into a cloth, and she tucked her hand into his once more. This time, they actually made it into the castle, neither of them looking back.

They both had wishes enough for one night.

* * *

When they finally reached the warmth of the castle, Severus allowed himself a slight sigh of relief. He'd been growing increasingly nervous that, despite what Aislinn might insist, they _had_ been out in the cold wind long enough to face frostbite. And, even more disturbing somehow than the idea of losing fingers or toes to the cold was the idea that it didn't seem to matter at all to either of them. He could have stood there all night, wrapped in her arms, his own arms around her, their souls joined at the lips, and if it had cost him limb, he wasn't sure the price wouldn't have been worth it. But it seemed foolish to tempt nature when shelter was so near at hand.

He paused just inside the doorway and took her hands again, sandwiching them between his own palms, and frowning at the cold that seemed to seep through them. Even though his own hands felt like they were carved of ice, he could feel the iciness of her fingers. He lifted them to his mouth, and blew softly against them, and she smiled, though looked a bit confused.

"Why don't we go to the kitchens," he suggested softly, "and see what we can find by way of warm drinks?" _And warm fires,_ he thought, _and maybe some warm dish you can put your hands on, and maybe a House Elf that can be sent for Poppy without you realizing it._

Aislinn nodded, much to his relief. This was going to be far easier if she cooperated. She allowed him to lead her to the kitchens, and, as they stepped through the concealed portal, a small army of House Elves approached them, grinning and bowing, falling over themselves to be of service.

"Is there a chance of cider?" he asked one of them, and she squeaked in gratitude, making a rather awkward curtsey with the skirt of the pair of napkins that served as a dress for her. As she bobbed away, Severus bent to another of the elves. "Will you please see Miss Ichalia to the fire? She's chilled to the bone, I fear." That was enough to set no fewer than four of the elves scuttling, pulling Aislinn along with them.

"And Master Severus is being cold too, Bitty is thinking."

Severus looked down to the elf who'd spoken, and then knelt in front of her. "Bitty," he said solemnly, "I have an important task for you. I need you to go fetch Madame Pomfrey," he said in a low voice, "and tell her that Aislinn Ichalia has been outside too long and to come to the kitchens. And Bitty…" the elf looked, wide-eyed at the Potions master. "Tell her that it would be best if she came on the pretense of finding herself something to eat or some such." Aislinn didn't take kindly to hospital wings, Severus had learned the hard way. Bitty hopped away, and Severus rose again, casting a furtive glance to Aislinn, who was so busy being cared for by the gaggle of elves around her that she didn't seem the slightest bit aware of him. _Good,_ he thought, and made his way to the fire to sit beside her.

He had no more settled himself than he suddenly found a cup of cider in his hands, emitting such a tempting fragrance that invited him to inhale the steam. He wrapped his fingers gratefully around the warm mug and breathed in the spicy scent, but didn't sip it, being too busy watching Aislinn. She was having a hard time holding the cup, he noticed, and she'd begun to shiver. Shivering was a good sign, he supposed, but he rather wished she'd done more of that outside.

A moment later, Poppy came pushing in, and Severus knew she must have run to get here so quickly, but from the casual way she entered, she could very well have been looking for a cup of tea. "Well, good evening, Severus," she called, coming over to them. "And Aislinn. I didn't expect to find anyone else down here."

Severus smiled tightly, silently willing the nurse not to overdo it. Aislinn, however, was smiling broadly. "Hullo, Poppy!" she said brightly, through her chattering teeth.

Poppy took that as her cue, and her discerning, sharp eyes narrowed. "Rather cold, are you?" she asked Aislinn, moving closer and putting a firm and experienced hand to the younger witch's forehead.

Aislinn, predictably enough, ducked away. "I'm fine," she said, visibly taking control of her shivering and doing an admirable job of it, Severus had to admit.

"We just got in from a brief walk," he said, almost off-handedly, trying to give Poppy what she would need to justify pursuing an examination without admitting that she'd been summoned. The nurse took the bait beautifully.

"A walk! In this cold? No wonder you're chilled." She looked pointedly around the kitchen, then frowned, her hands bracing against her hips. "And I don't see any cloaks," she informed Aislinn, though her glare slipped to include Severus as well.

Don't look at me like that, he thought irritably, _I'm the one who had the sense to know you needed to take a look at her fingers. Just do it and be done with it. And tomorrow you can berate me for wasting your time and for…_ His thoughts were interrupted as he realized that Aislinn was glaring slightly at him as well. _She can't possibly know… no._ It dawned on him slowly, and he grimaced, shrugging. She had said when they left the castle that they needed cloaks and he'd been the one to talk her out of that.

Poppy was disentangling Aislinn's hands from her cider cup, though, and that was enough to keep the brunt of the dark-haired beauty's glare focused on the mediwitch. Severus finally sipped some of the cider, then frowned contemplatively at it, wondering if he'd ever actually tasted the stuff before. Somehow, he'd been expecting something spicier instead of something so… he sipped again. So appley. While Poppy examined Aislinn's fingers, massaging her fingertips, then ordering her to close her eyes with strict instructions to tell her when she felt something. Aislinn apparently passed the test, and then Pomfrey moved on to her feet, ignoring her protests and lifting the hem of her robes.

A clucking brought Severus' attention back to the pair of them, just in time to see Poppy scowling at him and Aislinn both. "Honestly," she muttered, "if you have to go walking in the night without a cloak, you could at least wear decent shoes." Severus looked at Aislinn's shoes for the first time and grimaced as he saw her neatly painted toenails poking out of the end of them. He was going to catch some hell from Poppy for this, he could tell already.

Luckily, though, Aislinn's toes seemed to pass inspection as well, and Poppy put the cider back in her hands. "You're lucky," she told the younger woman, and Severus could almost hear the lecture coming. What finally emerged from Pomfrey's lips, though, was fairly mild, if still stinging. "I would have expected more sense from at least one of you two," she muttered, and Severus grimaced, noticing that Aislinn's reaction was largely the same.

He tried to catch Poppy's eye and smile his thanks to her, but she was moving over to him now, and, to his surprise, he found his cup of cider sitting on the floor and the nurse kneeling in front of him, his hands in hers. "What are you doing?" he blurted out, not thinking. Poppy just smiled one of her more infuriating smiles.

"You didn't think that frostbite had a gender preference, did you Severus?" She was turning his hands over and frowning slightly, then ordered, "Close your eyes, and tell me when you feel something." He sighed, marginally mortified and certain that Aislinn was smirking at him now. And he waited for Poppy to do something. The next thing he knew, though, she was pulling his foot into her lap, and he felt his boot loosening from his foot. Before he could protest, Poppy was massaging his toes, and, instinctively, he jerked his foot away from her.

"That bloody tickles," he informed her, ignoring the grin on Aislinn's face. Poppy glowered at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Well, at least you can feel that," she murmured, and then took his hands again, frowning at them. "Can you feel this?" she asked, and he watched as she took one of his fingertips between her thumb and forefinger.

He was about to retort that of _course_ he could feel it, but the realization slinked over him that he could _not_, in fact. He shook his head slightly, and, by the fire, Aislinn's grin was fading suddenly.

"What about that?"

He was aware of a slight pressure on his finger, but he couldn't say he could actually _felt_ it. "Not really," he admitted.

"Bloody…" Pomfrey began, then pointed at one of the elves. "You, get me a cloth and a bowl of warm water. And a stool!" Three elves skittered to do her bidding, and within a minute, the nurse was sitting in front of Severus, her hands encased in a towel soaked in water that steamed softly. She held his right hand between her hands, and was rubbing vigorously, muttering the entire time about stupid stunt's she'd expect from students. Aislinn had stood and walked over to them, and was kneeling at Severus' knee now, biting her lip.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked Pomfrey, as though he wasn't sitting right there and fully conscious.

"He'll be fine," the nurse replied, and his irritation over their talking about him like he wasn't in the room was briefly replaced by relief over her prognosis. His relief was short lived, however, as feeling suddenly exploded into his right hand, and he cursed vehemently under his breath. It felt like his hand had been plunged into boiling water and pricked by a thousand pins at once. Rather like it had gone to sleep and was coming back to life, only much more violent than the 'pins and needles'. Poppy just snorted and stopped her rubbing, letting the cloth fall to her lap. She reached out and took his chin firmly between her fingers. "You remember how that hurts, Severus Snape," she hissed at him, "and the next time you feel a burning need to wander around outside at midnight in December, wear gloves." She let go of his chin, and took his left hand in hers, and repeated the rough remedy.

It didn't take so long before the feeling returned to his left hand, and she retrieved the cider from where it was on the floor and removed her wand from her pocket. She muttered a warming spell and then placed the newly steaming mug into Severus' hands again. "I suppose that's as good for you as anything," she told him, pocketing her wand again and folding her arms. "Though I'd have chosen tea. You get over there by the fire," she glanced up at the figure hovering over his shoulder, "and you too, Aislinn," she said pointedly, "and the two of you had better sit there for at least half an hour and have two mugs of that cider each. And then, for the bloody love of Merlin, stay inside for the rest of the night." There was a note of pleading in her voice, and, as Severus stood and she ushered him and Aislinn to the fire, he found himself nodding guiltily, much like he had as a schoolboy when he'd been caught doing something foolish. He noticed that Aislinn was looking properly abashed as well.

When they were both seated and the House Elves had been told to keep an eye on them, Poppy took a cup of tea and bustled out of the kitchens. When the door clicked shut, Aislinn looked at Severus over the top of her mug, and _damned_ if she wasn't _laughing_. Silently, but still. He took a sip of his cider before her infectious laughter pulled him in too, and he was chuckling with her.

"I don't think I've seen her that put off with me since I was fifteen and tried to…" she trailed off, suddenly burying her face in her mug again.

"Tried to what?" he asked, and she only shook her head, her face turning red. "Oh, no you don't. I've been wondering for two months what happened when you were fifteen."

Her eyes widened, and she lowered her cup. "What happened two months ago to make you start wondering that?" she asked incredulously.

He leaned forward and crooked a finger at her, indicating she should lean closer. When she did, he whispered in her ear, "You nearly broke your neck in the dungeons." He laughed as she huffed and resumed her seat, but she was smiling.

"You've been curious this whole time and never asked?"

Severus shrugged. "I can be a patient man," he replied off-handedly.

"Then you won't mind being patient a while longer." She finished off her cider and gestured one of the elves over. Severus tipped back his cup as well and let the elf take his empty cup as well, and waited until they had fresh cups in their hands before he replied.

"I believe I have waited long enough. Now, tell me, what happened?"

Her face turned red again, and she muttered into her cup, "My-rye-eee-plo-idd-oo-dee-low."

"What?" he asked, reaching for her cup and taking it away from her. "Once more, and in English this time."

"I tried to feed Exploding Fluid to a Grindylaw!" she blurted out and reached to jerk her cup of cider away from him again.

He stared at her for a moment, the urge to laugh until he fell off his chair combating valiantly with the urge to berate her for stupidity. "You didn't," he whispered in disbelief.

"Look," she protested, "I always had more guts than common sense."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" His voice had taken on some of the quiet chill that made students quake.

She snorted softly. "Of course I do," she replied. "And I knew it was dangerous when I did it. But 'danger' had quite a different meaning for me ten years ago. And don't you think about scolding me, Severus Snape," she suddenly rounded on him. "I already got that from Dumbledore, McGonagall _and_ Pomfrey, thank you very much."

He grimaced and opened his mouth to protest that he had not been about to scold her, but closed it sharply when he realized that was _precisely_ what he'd intended to do. With a sigh, he finished off the second prescribed cup of cider. "I wish students would leave me and potions out of their pranks," he muttered.

Aislinn laughed softly. "But potions make some of the best pranks!" she insisted. "Think of all the fun you can have with a Confusing Concoction!"

Severus rewarded her with a glare, and momentarily considered telling her that potions were not to be taken lightly and many of them contained ingredients that could be deadly in large quantities. Any thoughts he had of such a statement, though, were pre-empted by her standing and stretching.

"I don't know about you," she said softly, "but I've had quite a long day and very little sleep."

His heart fell suddenly, and it was as though the cloud of euphoria he'd been floating on suddenly disappeared and he returned to earth with a resounding _thud_. "Yes," he admitted, "I suppose it has been a full day."

She reached for his hand, and he stood, lacing his fingers though hers. "Walk me to my rooms?" she asked softly, and he felt an infuriatingly idiotic grin spread across his face.

"Certainly," he replied, then leaned to whisper in her ear, "but only if you promise you won't make me leave."

As it happened, she did not make him leave.


	29. Not a morning person

The flickering fingers of firelight caressed the room, making it seem to glow richly, even in the night. Severus lay beside Aislinn, his head propped on his hand, watching her sleep. They'd started out the night in each other's arms, but at some point, she'd sighed softly and rolled a little way away from him, onto her stomach, her hair spread around her like a halo of copper-threaded ebony. Though she'd placed some distance between them, he couldn't help but smile at the way her leg was still draped over his, as though to reassure him that she wasn't trying to get away from him. Carefully, he reached a hand to her face and moved a lock of her hair aside, smiling at her sleeping profile. She looked almost sinfully young like that, with nothing covering her except the firelight and a satin sheet, her face relaxed for Morpheus and her sensuous lips parted slightly. The position of her head made her cheeks appear smoother and almost cherubic, and he longed to touch her again, but was loathe to wake her, so he settled for letting his eyes do the work his fingers longed for.

She murmured something in her sleep, and he frowned slightly, trying to decipher the muffled mutterings, but gave up. Whatever it was, he hoped it was nice. He hoped her dreams were being kind to her tonight. He carefully stroked one of the curls of hair that had spread over the pillow, watching her face for any sign that it might be disturbing her, and let his mind wander for a minute.

What did you do to deserve this? he asked himself. He had no idea. The truth was that Severus thought he deserved many things, but none of them so pleasant as a beautiful and vibrant young woman just inches from his body, sleeping peacefully in his presense. There was something about that that touched his heart in an unexpected way. It was, in essence, a sign of trust that she had rolled away from him and was so blissfully unaware of him; had she been truly afraid of him, she would never have been able to sleep so tranquilly.

Maybe, he thought idly, _she is an angel, sent here to remind me that there could still be redemption. Maybe._ It had been many years since Severus had believed anything outside the physical. The things he could touch and manipulate and control were easy for his mind to understand, but he had been a child the last time he believed there was some overriding force of good—or evil—that had any hand in matters on earth. He thought such ideas were quaint at best and blindly foolish at worst, but more and more, during the last few days especially, he found himself wondering if perhaps he was the blind fool. Aislinn stirred again, and Severus' hand stopped its reverent stroking of her hair for a moment, but she settled again and murmured unintelligibly once more. He resumed his careful caress.

And why shouldn't you believe in something beyond the physical? he wondered, picking up one of the silken strands and marvelling momentarily at how it curled around his fingertips, almost like devil's snare. _Maybe I don't want to believe that there is anyone or anything that will hold me responsible for what I have done. Maybe I am hoping that my suffering here will be the end of it, and there will be no awareness when that suffering is done._

"No…" she whispered, shaking her head suddenly, and then burying her face in the pillow. "I don't want to…" Her protest was muffled, but clear, and Severus frowned slightly, wondering what was plaguing her mind. He let his fingers trace closer to her head, softly touching her neck through the veil of hair.

"Shhh…" he whispered, and it seemed to work, and she nuzzled closer to the pillows.

After a moment, his thoughts returned to their previous train. _And what proof have you that anything exists beyond this world, anyway?_ It was an increasingly deep inner discussion, and perhaps a bit irreverent, lying here, as he was, his eyes smoldering with suppressed passion. He continued it anyway. _And what proof do I need? Is it not proof enough that it is a belief that has lasted since the dawn of civilization? That, after all, is what separates early man from his bestial ancestors: the belief in something beyond the self._ He had spent many an hour reading philosophy and history, subjects that intrigued him, but which he had always considered fundamentally useless. Passtimes, they were, and hobbies, but nothing more. _And how many Muggles refuse to believe in magic? Obviously, the masses are not always right._ It was a logical argument, but one he recognized and had a ready answer for. _Ah, but they do, don't they? After all, it was no wizard who came up with wishing on stars, and no witch ever claimed a fat old man in a red suit could deliver toys to all the children around the world in one night._ He smiled again at the sleeping figure beside him, and shook his head, making a mental note to ask her about Santa Claus again._ And, what are all their gods, if not magic? Changing water into wine, or conjuring rains in the dessert, transforming themselves into eagles and dragons, preserving their spirits in embalming potions… Magic, Severus, whether they wish to believe it or not. One does not have to admit something exists to believe in it._

Ah, there was the crux of the issue. One need not admit to something to believe in it.

"No," Aislinn whispered, more firmly this time, "I don't want to…"

Severus let his fingers trail over her shoulder and then drape over her waist. He pulled her firmly against him, and whispered into her ear. "You don't have to." He'd half-expected her to wake, but she did not, and he found her nuzzling against him now, and all thoughts flitted from his head, replaced only by the heady awareness of her proximity. As she relaxed in his arms again, he shifted slightly, pulling her closer and rearranging his arm to a position he thought he could sleep with for the remainder of the night, and then closed his eyes, trying to ignore the soft heat of her body against his. While failing miserably at ignoring it, he did manage to control the urge to actually _do_ anyting about it, and after a long, agonizing hour of painful awareness, he finally drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

It was some time midmorning when Aislinn finally drifted away from the cloud she'd been sleeping on and descended slowly back to earth. Consciousness came slowly, a process of gradually realizing that she was wrapped firmly in a pair of arms, and there was someone so close to her that she could feel every inch of his body against hers. It was a moment more before her mind came to the conclusion that it was Severus, and that it was a comfortable feeling. She closed her eyes again and snuggled closer to him, delighting in the feeling of his arms about her, and she stayed like that for nearly half an hour before the need to use the loo finally overcame the desire to stay precisely where she was.

Slowly, she attempted to wriggle away from him without waking him, but he had his arms locked around her in an iron-like grip, and one leg draped over her hip, effectively trapping her. _Possessive, aren't we?_ she thought with some slight amusement. She made another abortive attempt to disentangle herself from him, but, if she didn't know better, she'd swear he was making a concentrated effort to keep her from leaving. She tried to pry his fingers apart so she could roll out of his arms, but they were clenched so tightly that she didn't think shackles could have held her more effectively.

After a moment of struggle, she looked over her shoulder to find his eyes open, watching her with a glimmer of amusement. Her face flushed indignantly. "Are you going to let go of me?" she asked, scowling.

He chuckled softly, and she tried to ignore the way the sound rumbled through his chest. "I might if you ask me to," he replied.

Aislinn collapsed against him again and sighed. "Severus, please," she begged. "I have to go to the bathroom!"

His grip only tightened around her, though she did note that he shifted his leg slightly, putting less pressure on her hips and capturing her thigh instead. "All you have to do is ask," he whispered into her ear, his breath sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.

She closed her eyes. "Please let me go," she said with a hint of long-suffering in her voice.

For a moment he was silent, then his grip loosened, and she rolled away from him. She scrambled to the edge of the bed and hissed as her feet hit the cold floor. When she passed the shock of icy stone, she shot him a smile over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said primly.

He bunched up a pillow and folded his arms over it, resting his chin on his wrists. "Any time," he replied, as though he'd just opened a difficult jar for her.

She sat there for a moment, then frowned slightly. "Are you going to watch me?" she challenged, and _damn_ the man if he wasn't grinning at her.

"You think I'm going to see something this morning that I didn't see last night?" he asked, never taking his eyes off her.

Muttering under her breath, Aislinn jerked a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her as she stood, and padded softly across the room, holding her head with as much dignity as she could muster and feeling his eyes following her. She shut the bathroom door firmly behind her. After she'd relieved herself, she moved over to the sink to wash her hands, and, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, cried out, horrified.

"Are you all right?" His voice sounded much closer than the bed, but, when she turned around, she was relieved to note that the door was still closed.

"Fine!" she replied, reaching for her hair brush and shoving it through her hair in a vain attempt to tame it. As she tried to jerk it past a particularly stubborn tangle, though, the hairbrush protested, and she hissed a curse as it flew out of her hand and hit a jar of bath salts, which hit the floor and promptly shattered. "_Shit!_"

"Aislinn?" his voice was just on the other side of the door now, and, as she knelt, trying hurriedly to pick up the broken glass, she shot back her reply.

"I'm _fine_!"

There was a pause, then his voice carried an uncharacteristic hesitance. "Can I come in?"

No, you can't come in, she thought irritably, biting back another curse as she tried to sweep some of the salt into her palm and came up with a handful of glass shards instead. "Why do you want to come in?" she called through the door, hopping to her feet again and cutting on the water. She shoved her hand under the sink and hissed as the salt and water combined and seeped into the cuts all over her hand.

There was another pause, and his voice sounded almost… embarrassed. "Roughly the same reason you wanted in there," he answered, and she paused for a minute, then muttered another curse.

She made a dive for the blanket which she'd dropped on the floor, and wrapped it hurriedly around her, wincing as an embedded shard of glass scratched against her thigh. She gave the broken glass one last pained look, then shoved her hand through her messy hair and took a deep breath before walking to the door, holding her head as high as she could manage. "Yes, of couse," she replied, opening the door, but, as luck would have it, her blanket was caught on the corner of the door, and when it opened, it took the scant covering with it, so that the sight Severus was presented with was a naked, bleeding woman with frizzy hair and a path of destruction behind her.

To his credit, he did not laugh.

He did, however, scrub a hand over his face, and she was certain that was his cover to keep from laughing.

"Mind the glass," she said primly, brushing past him, not facing him.

She made an effort to dress while he was in there, but found that the glass in her hand was more pressing, so, when he re-emerged, she was still nude, sitting on the bench in front of her dressing table now and squinting at the splinters of glass in her hand, picking at them with a pair of tweezers.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are an accident waiting for a place to happen?"

Aislinn didn't even look up. "Not in so many words," she replied tartly, and, to her irritation, he _did_ laugh that time.

She felt his presence behind her, and he took the tweezers from her, bending over her shoulder. "Allow me," he offered softly, and with a sigh, she relinquished her hand to him.

It only took him a minute to remove all the glass, and then he helped her to her feet. "Will you let me clean up that glass, please?" he asked quietly, his fingers caressing her face. "You don't seem to have much luck with it."

Her face was burning, and she shrugged as she turned away from him. "Whatever suits your fancy," she replied, heading to her bureau and opening a drawer. She was expecting him to say something, but she heard nothing, and after a moment of the silence, turned to face him again, but he wasn't there. He was in the bathroom, his wand pointed at the floor, muttering spells that gathered the glass and salt and lifted it into the wastebasket.

Aislinn turned her attention back to finding clothes, feeling that if she could just get dressed she'd have some of her composure back. A moment later, though, she felt an arm snaking around her waist, and, as she turned to look at him, there was not so much as a smile on his face.

"I didn't mean to criticize," he said softly.

Sure you did. She kept the thought to herself, though, and sighed softly. "It doesn't matter," she replied, making an effort at keeping her voice light. "I must say I'm not at my best in the morning. Things bother me a bit more before I've had my first cup of tea."

He brushed her hair from her face. "I have no complaints," he whispered, and she felt a moment of panic as he leaned forward to kiss her. She pulled away from him suddenly, acutely aware that she hadn't brushed her teeth yet.

"I…" she began, looking franticly for an excuse, but coming up short.

He smiled, a tight smile that didn't look nearly as genuine as the ones from the last two days had. "You needn't explain," he said quietly. "I'll be out of here in a moment."

She sank back to the bench and watched as he gathered his clothes, shrugging into his trousers and shirt and draping the rest of them over his arm. He picked up his boots, not bothering to put them on, and looked at the door, as though trying to decide if he really wanted to open it.

Don't let him walk out of here like this! Her mind was screaming at her, insisting that if he left now, under these circumstances, that they were even further back than where they'd started yesterday. She caught her lip between her teeth, frozen to the spot as he seemed to make up his mind and reached for the door.

"Severus, wait!" she suddenly bolted up and towards him. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I…" she cast wildly about for something to say, something besides the panicked plea to not leave.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice very nearly as cold as it always was with the students, and she cringed inwardly.

"I just… I just wanted to thank you," she finally managed, then rushed to explain as he raised an eyebrow. "For last night. And yesterday. And the night before. I…" she trailed off again, and bit her lip. "I've really enjoyed it."

He let go of the door, and leaned against it, still holding his clothes. "You're welcome," he replied after a moment. "If we do this again, though, I'll make sure I'm gone well before morning."

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He snorted derisively. "It's obvious you don't want to face me in the morning light," he replied softly. "And I can't say I blame you. It must be much easier when the darkness conceals me."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said truthfully, "but I think you have it wrong, whatever it is."

"What's wrong with you?" he asked quietly, and she might have taken offense had it been in a slightly more accusatory tone.

"I told you," she replied, "I'm not a morning person."

"Neither am I, particularly," he said softly, "but I could have enjoyed _this_ morning with you."

She blushed softly. "I…" she began, and then started again. "I think I could enjoy a morning with you too," she admitted quietly, "if I could have half an hour to prepare to face it first." He frowned at her, and she sighed, shrugging a bit. "I told you, Severus, I'm not at my best in the morning. I can barely walk in a straight line, my hair's a mess, I didn't take off my make up last night so what isn't on a pillowcase somewhere is smeared all over my face, I need a shower and a cup of coffee and to brush my teeth…" she trailed off again. "And to get dressed. Even if my clothes don't stay on for ten minutes, I need to put them on," she whispered, folding her arms protectively across her breasts. "I just…"

He smiled at her again, and reached for her. She took the few steps to stand beside him. "You're beautiful just like you are," he whispered, taking her face in his hand and holding it so she could not turn away. "You look like a woman who slept well after a tousle in bed, and, seeing as I'm the man you tousled with, I can't imagine you looking any better than you do right now." He let go of her face and brushed the hair from her eyes again. "And I know that the next time I see you, you'll be composed again, and your hair will be neat and you'll be wearing makeup that I can't see and won't know is there until I try to kiss you and taste something, and you'll be wearing those shoes that give you a height advantage over me again." He was smiling as he said that, and Aislinn felt a smile creep across her face, in spite of her determination not to. "But if I want to remember you as truly beautiful, making my heart stop, I will remember you like this." He caressed her face, and she turned her face into his hand.

He tilted her face up, and leaned down, just slightly, and this time she fought the urge to duck away from him as his lips closed over hers. It was a soft, gentle, brief kiss, and then he stepped back. "I'll see you later?" he asked, and she nodded, the smile still plastered idiotically across her face.

She stepped aside as he opened the door and slipped into the corridor. As the door clicked shut behind him, she whispered at it, "I love you."


	30. Christmas Eve

December 24

It wasn't even six o'clock yet, but it seemed much later, somehow. Perhaps it was the darkness of midwinter finally making its presence undeniably known. Perhaps it was the quiet of a castle that normally twittered with activity and was now empty save the few students who had not gone home for the holidays. Perhaps it was Christmas, looming dauntingly, the seconds ticking past at an agonizingly slow pace. Whatever it was, Severus was tired of it, and ready to go to bed, but not yet ready to give up for the evening. He shifted restlessly in his chair.

A book lay open on his lap, but he wasn't reading it, and wasn't even trying to pretend he was anymore. He'd thought that it might distract him, but it hadn't. Nothing would, it seemed. He missed Aislinn so much that it hurt. It _physically hurt_. Except for a few words in passing, and a meaningful look exchanged during a staff meeting, he'd not spoken to her since their breakfast in the astronomy tower nearly two weeks ago. Odd, how two people could live in such close proximity to one another and still manage to go days without talking. That was the nature of the season, though. December was a month filled with obligations for the staff, and Severus had been excruciatingly busy for the week following their interludes. And Aislinn…

He sighed and moved the book from his lap to the table by his chair and stood, walking over to the sideboard and staring for a moment at the decanters of brandy and wine that gleamed softly in the candlelight. None of it looked particularly appealing. At least, not alone.

Aislinn had been busy too, that last week before the students left for their vacations, and Severus understood that. That weekend, though, he'd been hoping to snag a little of her time, but she'd made her excuses by way of a note that said she had a headache and really only wanted to sleep. He'd thought perhaps a few hours would see her past the headache, but late Sunday evening, she still hadn't emerged from her rooms.

Monday afternoon, he'd gone to check on her, but as he rounded the corner to come to her quarters, he'd stopped dead in his tracks as Jordan Mickery came slipping out of her door, looking furtively one way and then another before sidling down the hallway. Doubts plaguing his mind, Severus had just stood there for a long wile, watching as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher returned with a pair of wine glasses and a bottle of wine. _Well,_ he'd thought bitterly, _looks like her headache only prevents her from joining **me** for a drink._ He'd turned on his heel and stalked away, his mood black as ebony.

By Tuesday morning, though, he'd decided that he preferred her company, on any terms, to his self-imposed isolation, and he'd had every intention of trying to entice her to lunch in Hogwarts when the mark on his arm began to burn. The Dark Lord, it seemed, was bored, and Severus and three other Death Eaters had endured better than six hours of the most excruciatingly tense excuse for tea that Severus had ever cared to imagine. They'd left with token orders, and there had been no doubt in the potions master's mind that the Dark Lord had nothing planned for the holiday season. Odd, that, but a relief. After reporting to Dumbledore, though, another two-hour task, Severus had found that any hope of a leisurely afternoon in Hogwarts had dissipated. Hoping to salvage dinner from the fiasco of a day, though, he'd gone to Aislinn's rooms and knocked and waited until Minerva found him and told him that Aislinn had decided to visit friends in Muggle London for a few days. He'd gone to bed early that night, and stayed in bed until mid-morning the following day.

Wednesday was no better, really, and he spent it in the dungeons, resisting Dumbledore's attempts to interest him in a game of chess or a cup of tea. He'd been miserable, and preferred to stay that way. Afternoon had found him in his own rooms, all his grading caught up, the potion he'd promised the Dark Lord brewed and an antidote for it steeping, the light fading too quickly and not soon enough.

Now, on Thursday, time had come to almost a complete halt. He felt raw inside and out, wanting desperately to talk to Aislinn, not sure he wanted to face her, and hating himself for being so attached to her that he would rather look the ignorant fool and pretend he didn't know what was going on between her and Mickery than facing the facts and risk losing her forever. He didn't think he could be just her friend, whatever she might wish. Too much had passed between them now.

With a soft sigh, he settled on the bottle of cognac, and filled a sniffer with it. As he made his way back to his chair, he frowned at the broad-rimmed glass, wondering why he'd chosen cognac when he had no intention of drinking it. Bloody expensive stuff to waste. He sniffed half-heartedly at the contents, but had no interest in it, and with another sigh, he sank lower into his chair, propping his feet on a cushioned stool and staring at the door, silently willing Aislinn to be standing there on the other side of it.

"Forget all the wishes I made on shooting stars," he muttered, rubbing his thumb against the bowl of his glass. "I'll trade them all for just one wish now: I wish she was here."

There was a knock on his door, and for a moment, he stared blankly at the portal, not comprehending. Another knock, and he was aware of it this time, and aware that he'd probably gone to sleep and was dreaming; after all, he didn't believe in wishes. Not really. The third time he heard the knock, though, his curiosity overcame him, and a sense of hope bloomed inside his chest. He lifted his wand and muttered an incantation, opening the door…

Wishes, apparently, did not come true, and Severus cursed and very nearly slammed the door in Remus Lupin's face. "What do you want?" he hissed, instead, dropping his wand in his lap and running his hand through his hair.

Lupin looked a bit startled, and glanced out into the corridor before stepping, almost warily, into the room.

"I'm not going to curse you," Severus muttered, gesturing him inside and closing his eyes. "At least, I won't if you'll tell me what the hell you want and then get out."

Clearing his throat softly, Lupin spoke, almost hesitantly. "I… ah… Dumbledore said you had not brought a new batch of Wolfsbane potion to him, and he suggested I come ask if you had any prepared."

Severus opened one eye and regarded the werewolf critically for a moment. "Is it already that time of month again?" he asked, and Lupin sighed quietly, a look of enduring patience on his face. Severus closed his eye again and picked up his wand, pointing it at the sideboard where he kept his wines. "It's over there," he muttered. "Third shelf."

At the sound of footsteps, Severus opened his eyes again and watched Lupin warily, but there was nothing untoward about his actions. He found the flask of potion and then closed the door again and Severus closed his eyes once more.

"Thank you, Severus," came his polite voice. Always polite. Almost condescendingly so, in fact. Severus made up his mind swiftly.

"There are goblets over there as well, if you want to take it now," he offered, and Lupin's footsteps paused.

There was a silence, and Lupin seemed to be considering Severus' motives, but after a moment the foot steps were heading in the other direction again, and Severus heard the sound of a cupboard door opening once more.

"Second shelf," he called behind him, still not opening his eyes. "On the right." He heard a door close and another open, and then a slight gurgling sound as the goblet was filled.

"Do you want to watch to make sure I drink it?" It was almost a challenge, but there was something more that laced Lupin's voice. Almost as though he were offended. Severus opened his eyes, but continued to stare straight ahead.

"No," he replied. "I trust you know the consequences for not drinking it, and are responsible enough to know that a foul-tasting potion is a far better option." His observation was greeted only with silence, and after a moment, Severus gestured at the other chair with his brandy. He couldn't quite bring himself to verbally ask Lupin to sit, but he did make a fair enough attempt to convey the invitation.

After a moment, Lupin settled into the chair, the goblet of Wolfsbane in his hand. Severus stared at the door, still largely ignoring his uninvited guest and Lupin stared at his potion, seeming to try and work up the courage to drink it. Severus could almost sympathize. He'd never tasted it, but from what went into it, he could imagine that it was barely palatable. Most potions he might tweak, change the ingredients slightly, add other, benign ingredients to cover the more foul tastes… but research of Wolfsbane suggested that tinkering with it could render it ineffective, and he'd little desire to experiment with such an important potion. Sugar made it useless, mint could make it unstable, diluting it seemed to diminish its effectiveness… Momentarily, he found himself wondering if honey would have any effect. As he looked at Lupin, though, Severus put the thought from his mind. Experimentation would come at a high cost if the experiment failed.

"You know," Lupin's voice shattered Severus from his thoughts, and he turned hollow eyes to the other man, "For a while, I had my old friend back," he said softly. "And I found that the years had taught me a great many things. When we were kids… stupid kids… I never dreamed that I wouldn't have those friends around me. James and Peter and Sirius… they were the most important people in the world. And then I lost them, all of them, two to death and one to worse than death… and I didn't think I'd ever forgive them for leaving me here. Why couldn't it have been me in one of their places? What chance did I have for happiness, and their futures were so bright…"

Severus frowned slightly, wishing he'd not invited Lupin to sit. The last thing he wanted was to hear the other man reminiscing fondly about their schooldays. He sipped his brandy and kept quiet, trying not to encourage him.

"And then the truth came out," Lupin whispered, "and I had one of my old friends back, and this time I was determined not to take it for granted. I was going to enjoy every minute I could with him, because I knew now that life was fleeting, and any moment, one or both of us could be gone again. I don't think I really expected it so soon, but it wasn't the utter shock this time. The end result, though, was the same."

Severus sighed softly. "Do you have a point, Lupin?"

A half-smile touched the other man's lips. "I suppose it was my bumbling attempt at an apology, Severus. For everything we did. For every time I turned my back on what James and Sirius were planning, and for every time I let them talk me into helping them. You didn't deserve any of that."

Shaking his head slightly in disbelief, Severus sipped his brandy again. "Don't," he muttered. "What's done is done."

Lupin took a deep breath and finished his potion, squeezing his eyes shut and screwing his face into a wrenching expression of disgust, as though fighting the gag reflex. After a moment, his face smoothed again and he opened his eyes. "I know I can't change what has already happened, Severus," he said softly, "but I can hope you'll put the past behind us."

"What do you want?" Severus asked finally, his features hardening. Lupin looked momentarily taken aback.

"I've lost all my friends again, Severus," he said softly, standing. "And it made me realize that life is too short to have enemies for no good reason. I was hoping you would accept my apology."

Lupin was looking around, and Severus stood as well, reaching to take the goblet from him. "I accept your apology," he said stiffly, turning towards the sink in the kitchenette that he seldom used for anything except washing glasses. "But don't expect friendship, Remus. I'm not the type."

After a moment, Lupin nodded. "Fair enough," he replied softly. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."

"Good night." The door clicked shut as Lupin let himself out, and Severus put the goblet aside to dry, muttering under his breath about people feeling the need to confess. And the implication that he held a grudge for something that happened more than twenty years ago. Preposterous. As he returned to his chair, Severus noticed the remainder of the Wolfsbane potion still in the flask and he sighed. He'd take it to Dumbledore in the morning. No use tempting Lupin to return here if he could help it.

There was a knock on his door again, and Severus pointed his wand at the door and it swung open. "Forget some-" he began, then stopped.

It was not Lupin in the doorway this time. It was Aislinn, and Severus' heart soared. "Aislinn," he breathed, setting his brandy aside and swinging his feet to the floor, forgetting everything except that she was there. And she was smiling. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

She stepped into his rooms and placed aside a package that she'd been holding in her hands, then wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her. As they embraced, Severus found it hard to believe that he'd ever doubted her, even having seen what he did. There had to be some logical explanation, but he wasn't going to ask her for it. He was going to believe in her, and trust her and…

"I've missed you," she murmured, and he was drawing her to the chair.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her. She pulled back, though, and placed a finger over his lips.

"I have something for you," she said softly, and he frowned slightly, reaching behind him to pull the stool forward and settling onto it.

"Whatever it is," he whispered, "I'd rather have you."

She laughed softly, and ducked out of the chair, and retrieved the package she'd brought in with her, and placed it in his hands. It wasn't terribly large, small enough to hold in one hand, in fact. It wasn't precisely heavy, but it was solid-feeling. Wrapped in emerald-green paper and tied with a big silver bow, it looked almost surreal. Particularly in his sitting room, where there was no other indication that Christmas was tomorrow.

"I didn't get you anything," he whispered softly, staring at the box.

Aislinn smiled and placed three fingers under his chin, lifting his face. "That isn't the point," she whispered back. "Now open it."

He hesitated, and felt her eyes on him as he ran a fingertip over the ribbon. Without looking at her, he answered the unspoken question. "I don't remember the last time…" he trailed off, feeling a lump in his throat. He _did_ actually remember the last time someone had given him a Christmas present, but he didn't want to think about that.

Aislinn's moved to the floor, kneeling at his side, her hand on his arm. "Open it," she urged gently, and, finally, he tugged at the ribbon and slid his fingertip under the tape holding down the edge of the package. The paper fell away to reveal a plain cardboard box, which he opened slowly, peering inside. He paused as the light fell on the object within.

"It's a rock," he stated the obvious, quite obviously confused. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, frowning in concentration. It was an interesting enough rock, to be sure, but it was… a rock. Dark, flecked with something that shimmered, slightly charred looking, as though it had been pulled from a fire. He looked up at her, and she was grinning broadly.

"Not a rock," she replied, leaning over to kiss the end of his nose (which was enough to momentarily startle him out of his confusion over the rock).

"Then what is it?" he asked, and she touched his fingers softly, leaning her head against his.

"It's a shooting star," she whispered softly. His face must have given away his continued confusion, because she explained further. "A meteorite. One that actually hit the earth. So you will always have physical proof of a shooting star."

He laughed suddenly, then clamped his mouth shut, afraid he would offend her, but she was grinning too. "Well," he said, "it still remains to be seen if I can wish on it and the wish comes true."

"And!" she said suddenly, standing. She pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the meteorite, then placed her hand on it and whispered, "_Portricus_." The next thing Severus knew, he was standing in the middle of Aislinn's bedroom, the meteorite cupped in both their hands.

"You made a portkey of it?" he asked incredulously, turning the meteorite over in his hands.

Aislinn was nodding proudly. "I certainly did. You have to activate it, though, but it will transport you right here in the middle of this room. Took me the better part of two weeks to figure that out. Never was very good at charming things." This last was said nearly absently, and Severus laughed softly, pulling her into his arms.

"You do a fair job of charming me," he whispered against her ear, and she slid her arms around him. He held her close, breathing in her scent, and it took a moment before his mind cleared enough for the full realization to sink in. "You gave me complete access to your rooms," he whispered incredulously. She smiled and rested her cheek against his.

"Do you have objections?" she asked softly.

He shook his head mutely, and she grinned. "Good." He moved to kiss her, and for a moment their lips met, but only for a moment. She pulled away again, leaving a flame of desire burning within him.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you…" he whispered, looking at the meteorite again. "I suppose I'm not used-"

She was laying her fingers over his lips again, and he stopped. "I told you," she whispered, "that wasn't why I gave you that."

He smiled slightly and kissed her fingertips. "Will you let me make it up to you?" he asked, glancing meaningfully at the bed. She looked at the bed too, then sighed softly, and he steeled himself for her excuse. Whatever it would be this time. His soaring spirits were dampening again already.

"I can't," she whispered, caressing his face. He took a step away from her, and she reached for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

"Why not?" he asked softly, immediately regretting it. She smiled, though.

"I have a yearly appointment on Christmas Eve," she replied quietly.

"What kind of appointment?"

Her hand caressed his face again, and he turned his head to kiss her fingers again. "Making sure children continue to believe in Santa Claus," she replied softly.


	31. The Miracle

For a moment, Severus could do nothing but stare at her, stunned. It was one thing to have fun with these preposterous but quaint ideas, and even someone so socially inept as he could see the romance in whispering suggestive wishes in the wake of shooting stars. He thought the meteorite she'd given him was a delightfully creative gift, and he was especially grateful that it was nothing he'd have a hard time explaining if anyone should happen to see it. But for her to be standing there, telling him that she was going to perpetuate another of these myths rather than spend an evening with him... His heart wrenched in disappointment, and he almost wished he had the words to tell her how much that hurt. Almost. On the other hand, he didn't precisely want her to know it.

"I see," he replied noncommittally. He took a step away from her, trying to regain his lost dignity.

Aislinn reached for his hand. "You are not getting away that easily, Severus Snape," she whispered, closing her fingers around his wrist. He gave her a level look. "I'm hoping that you'll come with me."

He sighed. "Aislinn, how am I to convince children to believe in something I don't believe in myself?" he asked, suddenly tired. "And, in case you failed to notice, I'm not the most talented person with children."

She took a step towards him and reached for his face, but he ducked out of her reach and turned away from her. She sighed and dropped her hand. "You don't have to convince them, Severus. They already believe. We're just making sure that belief doesn't die."

He snorted softly, then started as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He placed his own hand over hers and turned to look at her.

"And I think you'll do fine with the children. Please?"

He knew that the discussion was over as soon as she said please and he saw the pleading in her eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked, resigned, and her eyes brightened suddenly.

"London," she replied, leaning to brush a kiss against his cheek. "And, since you said you'd come, I have another gift for you."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around that one and wavering between amusement and marginal offense. She had a gift for him that was _conditional_? How… 'rude' came to mind, followed quickly by 'disturbing'. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out another box, long and flat, wrapped in the same emerald paper with a silver bow, and offered it to him. As he took it, he commented dryly, "You must have been very sure I'd agree."

She smiled sweetly and settled herself on the bed, not commenting. "Open it," she instructed.

Pushy, aren't you? He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her at an angle, and placed the box on the mattress, then gave the ribbon a tug. It fell off the box, and two flicks of his fingertip had the tape off as well, the paper staying intact. He opened the box, and stared at the contents, truly surprised for the second time that night.

"What's this?" he asked, touching the dark green fabric. When he looked at her, she was grinning, and leaned forward, picking it up, holding it in front of him. He had only a moment to register that it was a _shirt_ before she placed it against his chest, holding it by the shoulders.

"I _knew_ that color was going to look smashing on you!" she exclaimed.

His eyes were still on the box, though, and he reached into it again, pulling out a sweater. It was also green, and though lighter than the other shirt, it was still rather dark. The color of a cedar tree. He frowned slightly at it, but was reaching into the box again, picking up yet another item—a pair of stiff-feeling blue pants. There was even a pair of socks in the bottom of the box, and a pair of brown shoes.

"What is all this?" he asked, still confused. She stood and leaned over to kiss him again, then winked at him.

"Muggle clothes," she replied lightly. "We'll be in Muggle London, and I was afraid you didn't have anything suitable to wear." She was off to her wardrobe again, and Severus was still frowning at the greens and blues and browns.

"I have Muggle clothing," he protested.

She was pulling something out of the wardrobe, but he couldn't tell much about it other than that it was red. "Black, I presume?" she asked.

"What's wrong with black?" he challenged, unable to deny that with the exception of the green robe he wore to Slytherin Quidditch games, everything he owned was black. At least, it had been until tonight.

"There's nothing wrong with black," she replied. "But that's the last thing to wear on Christmas Eve when you're playing Santa. Now, get dressed."

As she spoke, she began unbuttoning her own robes, and he watched for a moment, entranced, as she stripped and then began reclothing herself in a pair of the stiff-looking blue pants (which, he noted with a dry mouth, hugged her hips almost sinfully) and a gold-colored knit shirt that (aside from hugging her breasts even more sensuously than the pants did her hips) came right up under her chin. She cuffed the neck of it and began tucking the tail into her pants, and paused, gesturing at him.

"Hurry!" she commanded, and, seeing no recourse, Severus looked at the clothes one more time, then sighed and began doffing his robes as well. The pants, while stiff, were more comfortable than he'd anticipated, though they were rather tighter than he would have preferred (and he might have been surprised had he noticed Aislinn admiring the way the jeans fit _his_ ass.) He studied the knit shirt for a moment before pulling it over his head, and, feeling a bit incompetent, imitated her, straightening the high neck and cuffing it once. A peek at her revealed that she'd added a crimson sweater to her outfit, and, as she cuffed the drooping sleeves back, he couldn't help but think she looked quite the proper Gryffindor. He pulled on his own sweater as she sat and began pulling on socks, and then she was headed into the bathroom, a piece of cloth in her mouth as she pulled her hair up with her hands. He took his socks to the other side of the bed so he could watch her as he pulled them on, and he was so engrossed in the way her hair shimmered as she brushed it that it very nearly slipped his notice that his socks matched the knit shirt exactly. Something she would do. The shoes reminded him of house slippers; his feet just slid into them and he couldn't believe they'd stay on his feet, but when he stood and walked a few steps, he decided perhaps they would.

She emerged from the bathroom and he thought he heard something musical as she stepped back into the bedroom, but he put it out of his mind as it stopped suddenly. She was putting on her shoes, and he sat on the bed, watching her, idly fingering the sleeve of his sweater and trying to decide if he liked it or not. She stood and walked towards him, and he heard the chiming again, and his eyes ran over her once more, then he felt a laugh bubbling in his throat. She had _bells_ on her ears, and a glance at her hair told him that there were _bells_ on the ribbon she'd used to pull her locks back with. Before he could comment, though, she had his hand again and was pulling him to his feet.

"Turn around, then, let's see." He didn't move, but she didn't seem to care as she walked in a slow circle around him, her hands fluttering over his chest, then smoothing at his shoulders. "The sweater's a touch big, isn't it?" she said thoughtfully, "and the jeans could have been a bit shorter, but it's quite the style to wear them long, so I doubt anyone will notice. They do fit nicely, though, don't they?" She returned to stand in front of him, and his breath caught as her hands slid over his hips and into the pockets on his buttocks. She grinned saucily. "That," she said, leaning closer to him, "is one nice thing about Muggle clothes. They give you all sorts of excuses to touch a person." Her lips touched his, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. After a moment, he drew back and blew softly at her ear, making the bell sway back and forth, chiming softly.

"But they aren't particularly accessible, are they?" he asked, thinking that if they were in their robes, they'd be a shove of fabric away from joining.

She laughed quietly, and cleared her throat, stepping back. "How about the shoes?" she asked, concerned. "That was really a guess. I don't suppose I've ever paid much attention to your feet. Do they fit all right?" Even as she asked, she was dropping to her knees in front of him, her fingers probing at the toes of the shoes. He jerked his foot away from her and took two quick steps back.

"They're fine," he insisted, and she grinned up at him.

"They're a little big, aren't they?"

"They're fine," he repeated and she laughed softly and stood.

"All right," she relented. "There's nothing I can do about them at this point anyway."

She crossed the room again in a jingling clamor, and beckoned him to join her. Next thing he knew, he was seated at her dressing table and she had a comb in her hand, plying it to his hair. "There's not a lot to be done with it, you know," he said softly.

She shrugged and bent to kiss his cheek. "Never stopped me from trying before," she replied happily, and a few moments later she'd added half a dozen _things_ to his hair, and, while still not looking anything resembling what he'd consider _good_, he had to admit that it didn't look particularly _bad_. It wasn't as limp as normal, and it looked less greasy, but it wasn't messy either. "What do you think?" she asked him.

He snorted softly. "That hardly matters," he replied, "or I wouldn't be wearing any of this. What do _you_ think?"

Luckily, she smiled and, to his shocked and amused horror, she tweaked his nose. "I think you look quite handsome," she replied, and before he could open his mouth again, he found himself sitting in a cloud of some sort of mist. She was patting at his hair again and humming something cheerful and chiming and the humor of the situation suddenly threatened his composure.

She stepped back and nodded, and he felt like a Christmas Tree she'd just decorated, but her cheer was contagious, and he found himself smiling, despite himself.

"Go back to your rooms," she instructed, "and get a traveling cloak, and meet me back here in five minutes." As she spoke, she picked up the meteorite from where it was lying and placed it in his hands again. "Portricus," she instructed after her hands had left the rock, and he almost had the impression that she was speaking to him rather like she would a student.

He didn't let that bother him, though, and, as she stepped back, he murmured "_Portricus," _and a moment later was in his own rooms again. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror before retrieving his cloak, and he touched his hair lightly. It was stiff-feeling, but he had to admit that it looked better than it normally did, without looking really like he—or anyone else—had put any extra effort into it. "Leave it to a woman to spend fifteen minutes making something look like no one has touched it," he muttered, but there was a smile on his face and in his voice.

He retrieved his cloak and picked up the meteorite again, and once again recited the incantation to activate it as a portkey, and found himself in her rooms again. That was one very convenient rock.

Aislinn was swathed in a voluminous black cloak, the hood pulled over her hair, and he swung his own cloak around his shoulders. "So, where precisely are we going?" he asked as he straightened his hood.

She picked up a golden bowl from the mantle and took a handful of floo powder from it. "The Leaky Cauldron, initially," she replied. "It's just a short trip then."

He nodded and took some powder, and returned the bowl to her. She gestured for him to go first, and he stepped into the fireplace. "The Leaky Cauldron," he said clearly, and after a swirl of activity, he found himself stepping out of the fireplace in the tavern, which was largely empty. He stepped aside and a moment later, Aislinn emerged as well.

She pulled off her cloak, and dusted her hands, and he did the same. "Ready?" she asked, reaching for his hand. He offered his arm.

"If you'll tell me where we're going."

She smiled. "You'll see when we get there. Come on." She guided him out of the Leaky Cauldron, a mark of skill that she could lead him when he was the one offering the arm. They walked half a block, and she led him to an Underground station, and plucked coins into the turnstile for their passage. She led him to a quay, and then directed him onto a nearly empty train, where they settled into a seat against the wall. The train lurched forward, and he tried not to think about where they were.

"You're really not going to tell me, are you?" he asked, and she grinned at him, snuggling closer to him and giving him little choice other than to put his arm around her shoulders. Not that he wanted to be in any other position.

"Wasn't planing on it," she replied, settling her head against his shoulder, and he contented himself with breathing in her softly spicy scent. She smelled rather like apple cider.

He closed his eyes and held her for several minutes, and then she shifted and stood, beckoning him to do the same. He joined her, holding the bar above the door as the train lurched to a stop again, and they stepped onto the platform, and he followed her up the stairs and onto the street again. He looked around, his eyes struggling to adjust; night had wrapped itself firmly around London and a heavy fog filled the air, diffusing the light from the street lamps and bathing the street in a pale golden glow. He felt her hand slip into his, and they set off walking. It was another block or so, and then they came upon a large building, soaring ten floors into the air with columns on either side of the front door. Holly garland wrapped around the columns, and big red bows decorated the door. Tiny golden lights danced around the windows, and a warm glow drifted out from behind lace curtains. The decorations, however, were lost on him. His eyes were focused on the words carved above the door. _Saint Aldegundis Children's Hospital,_ it said, and his hand tightened around Aislinn's.

"Is this where you…" he trailed off, not daring to look at her. She squeezed his hand back.

"Yes," she replied softly.

He swallowed hard as she opened the door, and he was expecting… well, he didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he found. His own admittedly limited experience with hospitals was that they were solemn, somber places. Very serious, austere, comfortable but silent and smelling of antiseptic. This place was… bright. The walls were painted with fanciful scenes of forests and gardens, lakes shimmering in the sunlight, swans on the waters. There was a castle painted white on a mountain of pale blue clouds, pink and purple banners streaming from the turrets. There was an entire corner that was painted to look like a jungle, with broad-leafed plants and colorful birds, and half a dozen swings descending from the ceiling, the ropes wrapped in artificial flower vines. There was a slide, and shelf after shelf of toys and books, furniture that barely reached his knees in one area and comfortable-looking sofas and bean bags in another. It looked less like a hospital than a playroom. It was… "Enchanting…" he breathed, not realizing he'd spoken aloud. Everywhere he looked, his eyes landed on something more breathtaking than the last, and now it was a _rowboat_, right there in the middle of the room, filled with stuffed animals and books that caught his attention.

Aislinn wrapped her hands around his arm. "Just because they're ill children doesn't mean they aren't children," she whispered. "Come on." She tugged him towards a door with a rainbow arching over it, and they stepped into another, still larger room that reminded him almost of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The tables here were round instead of long, and draped with red, white, and green tablecloths, bouquets of lollipops in the center of each of them. At the back of the room, there was a tree that stood as tall as any tree that ever graced Hogwarts at Christmas, and he estimated it to be at least twenty feet tall. It was obviously a work in progress, as there were many jeans-clad people around it, on ladders and scaffolds, bedecking it with glittering ornaments and twinkling lights.

"Hannah!" came a voice, soft and soothing yet firm. Just hearing the voice, Severus would have guessed that it belonged to a nurse, for all nurses had that same calm, soothing yet no-nonsense voice. The woman who was walking towards them reminded him a bit of Minerva McGonagall, tall and thin, with glasses perched on the end of her nose and her hair pulled back tightly.

"They know me as Hannah here, still," Aislinn whispered, as though he couldn't figure that out for himself.

"I gathered," he replied, intending it to be a dry retort but the sarcasm dissolving somewhere between intention and manifestation.

"Mrs. Humpbert!" Aislinn was saying, stepping forward and reaching to hug the woman. The two of them embraced for a moment, then pulled apart.

"Ah, I see you've brought a friend." The older woman had taken off her glasses and was peering down her nose at Severus.

"Yes," Aislinn was beaming. "Mrs. Humpbert, this is a dear friend of mine, Severus. Severus, Mrs. Humpbert is the Head Case Worker."

The woman dropped her glasses, and Severus realized they were attached to a chain around her neck. "Pleased to meet you, Severus," she said, extending a hand, which he took, momentarily surprised at her firm handshake. "And please, it's Nancy. I can't convince Hannah here to call me that, but she can at least not spread her bad habits to others." There was a dry humor to the woman's voice that appealed to Severus and he smiled slightly.

"She isn't very good at doing what she's told. I noticed that long ago."

Nancy snorted softly. "Indeed." She turned back to Aislinn, who was grinning unapologetically. "So, you're here for the Miracle, I take it?" Aislinn nodded enthusiastically, but Severus' expression must have been as confused as his thoughts, for Nancy clucked her tongue. "Honestly, Hannah, you didn't even explain to him? Well, come with me, and let me tell you a bit about what we're doing." Nancy took his arm and began steering him towards one of the tables.

"Every year, at the beginning of December, we bring an actor in to play Santa for our children, and for their siblings, a familiar enough custom for them, to sit in his lap and tell him what they want. Our Santa, though, and his staff of 'elves' make detailed notes of which children want what, and Santa prods at them until they come up with realistic and specific ideas. And, armed with that information, we mobilize a veritable army of shoppers to make those Christmas wishes come true." She gestured at one of the tables, and Severus nodded, moving towards it and trying not to get too caught up on her words and to listen to the general idea of the plan. "We have many contributions from toy stores and candy stores, and from individuals and corporations all over London," she was continuing, "and then, on Christmas Eve, after the children have gone to bed, our Miracle Workers gather here to make Christmas unforgettable for these children. We do our best to fulfill every Christmas wish," she told him, patting a chair, which he sat in obediently. Aislinn sat beside him. "So, you're here tonight, and hopefully Hannah has at least told you this much!"

Don't count on it, Severus thought, but any resentment over the clothes and being kept in the dark was quickly evaporating.

"You're here tonight to help organize the event. You can see we have people decorating the tree, and there are volunteers over there," she gestured across the room with her glasses, "wrapping gifts. I'm putting you and Hannah here to work on the stockings. The stocking stuffers are in boxes, there," she pointed with her glasses again, "and you just fill them, and put a tag on them with the child's name. Finished ones can go in that box over there." She patted his shoulder, and leaned down to kiss Aislinn's cheek. "Enjoy yourselves," Nancy told them, "and thank you for coming to help us."

As Nancy walked away, Severus looked at Aislinn, an eyebrow raised. She was already reaching for a box, though, and she plunked it on the table in front of him. "Put the candy in the bottom," she suggested, "and anything like toys, leave sticking out the top. Oh, and leave the candy canes hanging on the outside, like this," as she spoke, she was demonstrating, filling the toe of the stocking with candies wrapped in brightly-colored foil and then tucking a small bear into the top, hanging over the edge, its arms reaching upwards as though it wanted to be held. There was a bright green scarf that she let drape over the side of the stocking, and then she hooked a candy cane on the edge of the stocking, and then picked up a tag, and a felt-tip pen from the middle of the table and wrote a name on the tag, then tied it onto the stocking with a length of ribbon, then held up the result.

He nodded and began filling a green stocking with candies and a rag doll. His eyes skimmed the boxes, and he found that most of them contained a stuffed animal or doll of some sort. And most of them had scarves. "Why…" he began as he picked up a bright yellow scarf and placed it in the stocking.

"The scarves?" she asked, and he nodded. Her smile nearly broke his heart. It was not happy, but not sad, and not mocking. It seemed… sympathetic somehow. "These children have cancer," she said softly, "and the treatments make their hair fall out."

"Oh," he whispered, tucking a candy cane into the stocking, then picking up a tag and a pen. "And the dolls and things?" he asked. "I find it hard to believe that all the children asked for dolls or stuffed bears."

Aislinn dotted the 'i' in the name she was writing, then looked at him again, this time no smile on her face. "The treatments can be painful," she said softly. "At best they leave you feeling like you're going to vomit your toenails up. Hugging a stuffed animal against your stomach helps."

"Oh," he whispered again, placing the finished stocking into a box. "I'm…"

Aislinn's foot brushed against his, and she smiled at him. "It's okay," she said softly, and then grew quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion. "These kids are some of the bravest you could ever meet," she told him. "I don't know if I could face it again, knowing now what it entails."

Silence settled between them, not particularly awkward, or even uncomfortable, but weighty. He didn't know what to say to her, or if he should say anything at all, and she seemed lost in her own thoughts, so they worked quietly for an hour or more, filling stockings and placing them in the box. Around eleven, someone came and placed two cups of hot cocoa and a plate of cookies on the table between them, and Aislinn paused, selecting a dark brown, white-frosted cookie and nibbling at it. Severus took a hesitant sip of his cocoa, expecting it to be sickeningly sweet, but it really wasn't that bad, actually.

"Have a cookie," she offered, nudging the plate towards him. There were half a dozen varieties of cookies on it, and he stared blankly at them. "Come on, Severus, don't tell me you've never eaten cookies."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not since I was a child," he replied evenly.

"Well, those are good," she said, pointing to the ones like the one she'd selected. "They're gingerbread. And these," she pointed at some that were cocoa-colored with a dusting of white cracked over them, "are wonderful. And so are those. Snickerdoodles. Think I'll have one of those," she said, picking up one.

He considered the plate for a moment, then took one of the snickerdoodles as well. He took a small bite of it, and was momentarily surprised to find it tasted more of cinnamon than anything else. After a moment's contemplation, though, he couldn't imagine why he was surprised; after all, this was the woman who seemed to like everything spicy.

"What do you think?" she asked, brushing off her hands and picking up a stocking again.

"I'm not sure I like it," he admitted, taking another bite and frowning in concentration.

She laughed softly. "Try the chocolate chip then," she suggested, pointing. He took her advice and bit unto the rich, sweet cookie and then stared at it. "Well?" she prompted.

"_That_ I like," he replied, finishing it off in a bite. Aislinn was studying him for a minute.

"You like chocolate, then?"

He shrugged a bit. "I don't know that I ever really thought about it," he replied.

"Well, think about it," she said, picking up another stocking. He thought about it.

"Yes," he replied after a moment, "I suppose I do like chocolate. And vanilla. And peanut butter." She was nodding thoughtfully, and when he looked at her again, he could almost swear she was making mental notes. "Why?"

She shrugged innocently. Too innocently. "No reason," she replied. Aislinn was a horrible liar now that he'd figured out her signs. But, knowing that she was lying (or at least evading the truth) didn't give him any clues as to what she was after.

"What about you?" he asked after a moment.

"Hrm?"

"Do you like chocolate?" He didn't have the slightest idea why she'd asked him, but it seemed a safe enough thing to talk about, something that didn't seem as emotional as what they were doing.

"Sometimes," she replied vaguely. "Certain kinds sometimes. But I'm not a 'chocoholic'."

"A what?"

She grinned. "A chocoholic," she repeated.

"What's that?"

"Do you know what an alcoholic is?" she asked, and he scowled.

"Of course but… oh."

She nodded. "It's a Muggle trend," she explained, "people can be shopaholics, chocoholics, workoholics…"

"I get the concept," he said tersely, and she giggled. He tried to scowl, but couldn't help it and found himself chuckling slightly. After a momentary silence, he steered them back to the question. "Then what do you like?" he asked.

"Caramel," she replied promptly. "And butterscotch. And cinnamon." As she said 'cinnamon', her eyes glowed momentarily, and he had to laugh again. She grinned sheepishly. "And fruity things. Never was much for chocolate cake, but banana bread…" she licked her lips, and he wasn't sure if that was suggestive or innocent, but it had the effect of the former.

"I like chocolate cake," he offered. "Never did like the smell of cooked bananas, though."

She reached for his hand. "You realize, don't you, that we have absolutely nothing in common."

He smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "I think we have a few things in common," he whispered, leaning towards her and flicking a kiss against her cheek. She blushed prettily, and he went back to the stocking he was working on.

Author's Notes:

Hm. I still don't own any of this, so that hasn't changed. I also note for the record that I made up St. Aldegundis, so any similarity to real or fictional places is purely coincidental. St Aldegundis is a patron saint of cancer patients, childhood diseases, sudden death… I thought very appropriate for a children's hospital. And, I guess I'm basing part of my idea for the place on St Jude's and part of it on the pediatric wing at the hospital where I work, among other places… The idea of the Miracle… I made that up, though I'd love to hear that it's real, because I think it's a beautiful idea. As a side note, my office adopted a family for Christmas last year, and it was one of the most singularly fulfilling things I've ever been a part of, so I am basing part of the Miracle on that and part of it on the Children's Miracle Network (a program I know is in the US and Canada, though I don't know how much more widespread it is…)

Anyway. That was my disclaimer. I now return you to your regularly scheduled reviewing. ::hint hint::


	32. Christmas morning

It was nearly four when they finished the last of the stockings. The small horde of people who had been working when they first arrived had dwindled considerably, and there were now only a few brave souls left, fighting yawns with laughter and bustling around to finish everything. Severus had his doubts that everything would be done by morning, but when he voiced this doubt, Aislinn merely laughed.

"It always looks hopeless," she said lightly, tying the last tag onto a stocking, "and then it always comes out all right in the end."

He found himself hoping she was right as they hurriedly cleaned up their mess and each picked up a box laden with stockings, carrying them to the tree. The tree was a masterpiece, and Severus couldn't help but admire it for a moment, awestruck by the simplicity of it. He'd never thought that a tree could possibly look like a Christmas tree without the help of magic, but this one shimmered and glowed, and as tall as it was, it was impressive in its own right. It was magnificent, from the crimson skirt that surrounded it to the golden star that topped it and every shining glass ball in between.

"Well," a voice caught his attention and Severus looked up to Nancy, who was standing on a chair now. The other volunteers were crowding around, looking up at her, and Severus set down his box and put his attention on the woman. She looked tired, but there was still the glitter of energy in her eyes that said she was not ready to give up yet. "We're closing in on the two-hour mark," she told them all, and there was a slight twitter, "and it looks like we're down to ten people. Now, I'm not going to insist that anyone stay, of course, but we could certainly use all the help we can get. The last thing we need to do is get the presents in order under the tree, and clear out the evidence of our passing and be ready to see the children pouring in at 6:30."

Severus glanced at the clock on the wall, and then looked around the room. He had his doubts that those who were left could even manage to straighten everything up within that time, let alone do anything else. There was an energetic cheer from the small group, though, and they busted up, Aislinn grabbing his arm and pulling him into the fray. "Just start grabbing some of those gifts," she pointed at the massive pile of boxes against one wall, "and bring them this way." He shrugged slightly, but did as he was told, noting that a couple others were doing the same. He brought back three in his first trip, and deposited them at the feet of an elderly woman who picked one up, squinted at the tag, then began calling out family names. After a few minutes, the process was working smoothly, with three of them carting gifts over, and two calling out names and the remaining five sorting the gifts into piles, and an hour later, all the boxes had been brought from the wall, and Severus joined the elderly couple in calling out the names and sorting the packages to the remaining people who were quickly amassing a small mountain of presents. At six o'clock, Aislinn and two other women were making plaquards for each of the families and finishing the arrangements, so Severus joined the others in a quick and imprecise cleaning of the tables.

He couldn't help but grin as someone shoved a box into his hand and told him to put anything that wasn't edible or a gift in it, and he found himself brushing scissors, tape, scraps of paper, pens and dirty dishes indiscriminately into the box. "Someone will sort through it later," he was told by a middle-aged woman who looked too large to move as swiftly as she did. At 6:15, someone brought out a box full of red, white and green napkins, followed by a rolling cart of dishes, and the ten of them were laughing and chattering as they set the tables. Severus didn't know he could lay out flatware so quickly, but he did, and at 6:25, the last spoon clinked into place, and Nancy clapped her hands, drawing all their attentions again.

"If you will all come with me," she called, and Severus looked aruond for Aislinn. He found her looking tired, frazzled and happy, and he beckoned to her. She joined him, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm again, and they followed the rest of the volunteers to a corner where they were less conspicuous but had a marvelous view of the door through which the children would be pouring. It was 6:28 by the digital clock on the wall, and there was a restlessness to all who had spent the night working on the Miracle. And it was a Miracle indeed.

Someone had set up a buffet, which he hadnt noticed until just now, but it was piled high with pastries and fruit, and pitchers of milk and orange juice sat on each of the tables. The tables, which had seemed so disorganized and mismatched only moments before, looked like confections from a distance, and the lollipop centerpieces sparkled slightly. The lights were dimming, so that only the flashing, colorful light from the Christmas tree, splaying colorful shadows on the ceiling and wall, illuminated the room. And the presents were waist-high and spread all across the front of the room and halfway down one side.

"Ten… nine… eight…" someone had started a countdown, and others took up the chant soon. "five… four…" Severus noticed that Aislinn was chanting with them, and he joined in the last of it. "Two… one…"

The doors swung open, and there was a collective gasp and a roar of noise as children suddenly flooded into the room, chattering wildly. The initial burst was children who ran in, but they were followed soon by wheelchairs and children with crutches and walkers… And suddenly Severus' heart was aching for the ones who couldn't run in. And, something else he hadn't been prepared for—some of the children were so _young_. Aislinn had said she was five years old when she was diagnosed with cancer, and now, as children whose heads barely reached his waist hopped past him, Severus was struck by how _small_ they were, and how frail-looking. There were children toddling around, holding the thumbs of adults, there were teenagers lingering near the doorway, trying to look uninterested. There were children of five and six who were already ripping into presents, and others who held back, looking timid and shy.

Aislinn suddenly sidled closer, and he put an arm around her. She reached for his hand, and leaned her head against his, watching the scene unfolding.

As the children began to settle into the opening of presents, and the roar of cheer subsided to a dull din punctuated by the occasional shriek of delight, Severus had time to look more carefully at the children. Many of them were painfully thin, and most of them had no hair, or just a few thin strands still clinging to their heads. About half of them seemed to be hooked to bags suspended from metal hooks that rolled around with them, and all of them were wearing bracelets, many with bandages around their wrists. Several of them were missing limbs, and several more seemed barely strong enough to sit upright, and had to have help opening the packages. And every one of them was smiling.

He tightened his hold on Aislinn, and finally tore his eyes away from the children for long enough to look at her, and he wasn't surprised to see that she was crying. He pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her. "I don't have a handkerchief for you," he whispered into her hair.

A box of tissues appeared practically from nowhere, and Severus looked over at the elderly woman who had been calling out the names earlier as they sorted the packages. "Here," she offered, her own eyes glistening. "No one has dry eyes on Christmas morning."

He smiled thankfully and plucked a few tissues from the box, handing one to Aislinn and holding the others. He had a feeling she was going to need more before the morning was over. As he stroked her hair, he found his eyes drifting back to the scene in front of them, and a feeling of peace that he'd never known crept over him as he knew that he was a part of making so many children so very happy on Christmas morning.

"Thank you." It was a new voice, and Severus looked up, tearing his eyes away from the children, and he saw a man holding a woman, both of them crying. "I didn't know how we were going to see that our girls had Christmas this year," the man was whispering hoarsely. "Thank you all so much."

Aislinn was out of his arms, suddenly, and she was hugging the man, and Severus found himself holding a woman he didn't know and offering her another tissue while she cried. When the woman pulled away, Aislinn moved to hug her, and for a minute, Severus had an unexplainable fear that he was expected to hug the man as well, but it seemed a handshake sufficed there.

And that couple was just the beginning. Slowly, one by one, adults in various states of composure were drifting forward, thanking them, hugging them, talking to them. Aislinn must have hugged and kissed everyone in the room, and Severus felt that he more than tripled his lifetime accumulation of hugs in the space of half an hour. And then, if it wasn't enough to have the parents there, a pair of children came up to them. The kids couldn't have been more than seven or so, but they were solemn, both with big eyes. Aislinn crouched in front of them, and Severus followed their lead.

"Did you guys do this?" one of the children asked. A boy with a mess of red hair, one of the few who _had_ hair, and big blue eyes. He reminded Severus quite a bit of the Weasley bunch. "'Cuz I know there ain't a Santa Claus," the boy was saying, "but it was real nice of you guys to do this."

"And how do you know that there is no Santa Claus?" Severus asked, shocking even himself.

"Santa Claus is for kids," the boy proclaimed, and the way he puffed out his chest when he said it spoke very clearly the fact that he did not consider himself a kid anymore.

"What's your name?" he asked the boy.

"Justin," the red-head replied.

Smiling slightly, Severus took the boy's hand. "You know, Justin," he said softly, "I believed that too, until last night. But some time very early this morning, I learned that Santa Claus is, indeed, quite real. You know how I know that?"

Justin shook his head, and Severus crooked a finger at him, indicating he should come closer. When he did, Severus leaned forward and said, just loud enough for him and Aislinn to hear, "Because he was here. In this very room, and if you had seen what I saw, you'd believe too. It was magical."

Severus looked at Aislinn over the top of Justin's head, and she was smiling at him, dabbing at her eyes again. Damn her. Severus was beginning to feel an unfamiliar prick behind his own eyes.

"Really?" Justin asked, wide-eyed, and uncertain.

Severus smiled as big a smile as he could manage. "Really," he insisted.

Justin looked skeptical, and Severus couldn't resist it anymore. He pulled the boy into his arms and hugged him tightly for a minute. "Don't doubt it," he whispered. "Just accept that some things are hard to believe, nearly impossible, until you see them with your own eyes. If you're ever lucky enough to see them."

The boy stepped back, and then grabbed Severus' hand. "Come on!" he said, tugging at his hand. "I want you to meet my sister."

Severus followed, vaguely aware that Aislinn was watching him, and he found himself led to a frail-looking child in a wheelchair, and he realized that Justin was not the one who was a patient here. It was the girl before him, not a hair on her head, dark circles under her eyes, looking like she might break if he touched her.

"This is Becky," Justin offered by way of introduction. "She's got leukemia." He pronounced the word very carefully, and Severus wondered if the boy knew any more about it than he did himself.

"Hello, Becky," he said, not really sure what to do now that he was kneeling before her. "I'm Severus," he told her. She smiled at him, and reached for his hand.

"Hello," she whispered, her words filled with a pain that he couldn't imagine, and suddenly he found himself remembering Aislinn's words. _I don't know if I could face it again, knowing now what it entails._

He sandwiched the girl's hand between his own, patting softly. "Are you having a good Christmas, Becky?" he asked softly, and she smiled, nodding. "Good," he went on, not making her speak. It seemed all she could do to stay awake, and his heart was breaking for her. "Did you get a lollipop?" he asked, and she shook her head, so he stood and reached for one of the centerpieces. "Do you want a red one?" he asked, "or a green one? Or…"

"Is there a grape one?" she asked, and he peered into the bouquet. It was useless. He knew less about lollipops than he did about stockings and cookies, so he finally crouched next to her again, the entire centerpiece in his hand.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to help me," he told her. "I don't have any idea what a grape one would look like."

She grinned, a big smile that lit up her entire face, and she pointed towards the center. "The purple one," she said weakly, and he plucked out the one she'd pointed at.

"This one?" he asked, and she nodded. He offered it to her, and then stood to put the bouquet back on the table again, and resumed his kneeling beside her. "Do you need some help opening it?" he asked, noticing that she hadn't unwrapped it.

"For later," she whispered.

He nodded, and took her hands again, not really sure what to say or do. Suddenly, though, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Aislinn smiling through her tears at him. "We should go," she whispeed.

Severus nodded, but pulled her closer. "Aislinn," he said softly, "this is Becky. Becky, this is Aislinn."

Becky smiled up at Aislinn, who had crouched beside him. "Your girlfriend?" Becky asked softly, and Severus blinked, then looked at Aislinn. "You make a cute couple," she was whispering.

Aislinn smiled broadly, apparently unperturbed by the question. "Thank you," she replied brightly. "And is your boyfriend here?"

Becky shook her head. "He's with his family."

Severus felt another jolt of a shock. He'd pegged Becky for no more than eight or so, but he was obviously mistaken.

"Well," Aislinn was saying, "when you see him again, you give him a big hug, okay?"

Becky nodded, and Aislinn leaned down and hugged the frail-looking girl until Severus nearly protested that she would break. To his surprise, though, the girl hugged back fiercely, and then Aislinn stood and gestured for him to join her. As they made their way away from the girl, he leaned to her and whispered, "How old do you think she was?"

Aislinn shrugged slightly. "Twelve, maybe? Thirteen?"

Severus was taken aback, but didn't argue. "And were you not afraid you would hurt her, hugging her like that?"

Aislinn smiled and slipped her hand into his. "I probably did hurt her," she admitted. "But I still remember how it felt to never have a real hug because someone was afraid they'd hurt me. I wished they'd hurt me and hug me instead of acting like I was made of glass."

They were outside now, in the cold, crisp air, and Severus stopped, turning her to face him. "You are an amazing woman," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her.

She smiled up at him, and settled into his arms.

The ride on the Underground back to the Leaky Cauldron was largely silent, and when Aislinn put her head on Severus' shoulder again, he was momentarily stricken by a panic that she'd fall asleep and they'd ride in circles on the Underground until she woke. She apparently did not fall asleep, though, and he apparently did, because he was startled to awareness suddenly by her hand on his neck.

"Our stop is next," she whispered, and they stood, preparing to exit the train.

Stifling a yawn as they stepped onto the dais, Severus slid his arm around her waist. "You are really wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule, did you know that?" She slipped her arm around him as well and hugged him.

"That's okay," she replied lightly, stifling a yawn of her own. "More interesting things to do than sleep, anyway." He chuckled slightly as they mounted the steps and emerged into the street, where she stopped suddenly, squealing. Instinctively, his hand went to where his wand should have been, but it was not there, and he narrowed his eyes, looking for danger. There was none, however. She was holding out her hand, palm up, and he stared at her for a moment before he realized what she was doing. "It's snowing!" she exclaimed.

And it was, indeed, beginning to snow. Big, fluffy flakes of white were drifting and dancing on unseen wisps of breeze, clinging to her hair and her sweater. He smiled, brushing one of the stray flakes from her nose. "So it is," he said softly. "Though I daresay you've seen the snow before."

She slipped her arms around his neck and he slid his around her waist, and she looked into his eyes. "Christmas snow is special," she insisted, then stepped closer to him. "Dance with me," she whispered.

He had no choice but to entertain a twirl from her, but when she was back in his arms again, he held her close. "There's no music," he protested, leaning his head against hers and whispering into her ear.

"And what's that got to do with anything?"

Running his fingers through her ponytail, he smiled slightly. "It's cold," he replied, "and once again we're not wearing coats or cloaks. Or gloves." He held up her hand and blew on her fingertips. "Let's go back to Hogwarts, and we'll light a fire," he kissed her palm, "and we'll find some music," he took one of her fingertips between his lips, "and we'll dance until our feet fall off if that's what you want. But let's get out of the cold."

There was a flicker of disappointment across her face, but she nodded, and a moment later, they were stepping out of the swirl of snow and into the Leaky Cauldron, which, once again was empty. They made their way to the fireplace and retrieved their cloaks from where they'd left them, and a moment later, he stepped out of the fireplace and into Aislinn's rooms, at her side. She was yawning once more, and he took the opportunity to place a kiss on her lips. "Don't start that," he chided softly, "or you'll have me doing it too."

She made a face at him. "You're the one who started it," she accused, covering her mouth as she yawned again, and, on cue, he felt his mouth stretching into a heartfelt yawn. She laughed softly. "Maybe a nap is in order before..."

Before she could finish her sentence, there was a knock on her door, and she crossed the room to open it before he could protest. Dumbledore stood there, smiling brightly, eyes twinkling like stars behind half-moon spectacles, and if he found anything out of the ordinary about their situation, he said nothing. "Ah, I was just coming to see if you were coming down to the Hall for breakfast," he said to Aislinn. "And Severus! You were my next stop, so I'm glad you're here. Save me the extra distance."

Aislinn and Severus exchanged slightly guilty glances, and she cleared her throat softly. "Yes," she replied, "of course! Just give me a few moments to change into something more suitable..."

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore stepped forward and took her arm, then gestured at Severus, leaving him little choice. "You look lovely! Both of you, really, so festive!" The pair of them found themselves ushered into the Great Hall, where, Severus noted, the House tables had been pushed aside and a single table set up in the middle of the room. "There are so few of us this year, I thought this would be more intimate. Have a seat here," he patted a chair for Severus, "and you, here, my dear," he pulled out the chair beside the one he'd indicated for Severus. The other staff members were already at the table, and the three students who were boarding over the holidays, and then Dumbledore seated himself at the head of the table.

The teachers were somewhat less successful than Dumbledore had been in hiding their surprise at seeing the two of them looking rumpled, as though they hadn't slept at all, and both in Muggle clothes, Severus in something other than black. Where there was fleeting surprise on the teachers' faces, though, there was drop-jawed shock on the faces of the three students-- Harry Potter and two Hufflepuffs. He murmured a silent prayer of thanks that none of the Slytherin students were present. Dumbledore said a few words, and then breakfast appeared on the table. It was, thankfully, a silent affair, and the students were excused as soon as they were finished eating, leaving only the staff. At which point the silence was broken.

"So, what did you get up to last night, Aislinn?" An innocent enough question, had it been from anyone but Jordan Mickery. Given the source, though, Severus narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever she was doing, I doubt that it is any of your concern," Severus told him.

Aislinn nudged his leg under the table and he became very interested in his crumpet. "I've been spreading Christmas cheer," she replied evasively, and Severus thought it was bloody obvious that she was lying.

"I see," Mickery said. "I suppose that's why you weren't in your rooms at all?" Aislinn's eyes widened indignantly, but she said nothing. "So I thought it likely you were with Severus, but no one answered there, either. So..." Mickery took a sip of tea as though he were discussing the weather. "Where were you?"

Severus' fork clinked to his plate and he turned a dangerous glare to his invasive colleague. "I really don't see how that is any of your business," he said stiffly.

"Indeed," Mickery raised his eyebrows. "I would think that when this school's reputation is at stake..."

"That is enough, Jordan." It was Dumbledore this time who spoke, and his voice carried an air of finality. "Put your differences aside now."

Severus smirked momentarily before picking up his fork again, feeling quite smug that for once it had been Mickery who received the admonition.

Mickery, however, dropped several degrees in Severus' already dismal esteem. "It's an innocent enough question, Headmaster, if they have nothing to hide. I just find it... intriguing... that both were missing at the same time, and no one else..."

"Jordan Mickery!" This time it was McGonagall who dropped her fork and rounded on him. "Really, Albus, this is..."

Dumbledore was holding up a hand, though, to silence everyone. "Jordan," he said, "I'm sure that there are better places to air your..."

"What do you want me to say?" Aislinn suddenly asked, standing and glaring at Jordan, her hands on her hips. "What are you looking for? An excuse to call me a whore again?" Severus reached to grasp Aislinn's sleeve in an attempt to tug her back to her seat, but she ignored him as though he were a mere fly.

"Well," Jordan was saying, standing as well, "if the shoe fits..."

Severus stood as well, and shouldered his way past Aislinn. "I would watch what I was insinuating, if I were you," he hissed.

Jordan stepped forward confrontationally. "And I wouldn't be so blasted cocky if I were you," he replied bitterly. "There is no pride in sharing a bed with a..."

"SILENCE!"

Dumbledore had stood, and held the three of them in his gaze, the way he did with students. Severus was the first to turn towards the headmaster, who quite suddenly was the Headmaster again instead of a friend.

"You three," he said, pointing at Severus, Jordan and Aislinn, "will join me in my office. Pardon us," he said, nodding his head to the rest of the table, then gesturing for the three of them to preceed him out of the Hall.

Aislinn held her head high as she led the way, and Severus recognized something of the defiant Gryffindor in her again as she folded her arms and stalked ahead, her long stride carrying her quickly. Severus spared Mickery one last glare before stalking after Aislinn, and a moment later he heard two sets of footsteps as Mickery and Dumbledore fell in behind him. He ignored them and rushed to catch up with Aislinn. As he touched her elbow, though, the look he received wasn't quite the grateful look he'd been expecting, but a glower instead. When they reached the Gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Aislinn turned her back to Severus and waited, her arms folded, for Dumbledore to come. A moment later, the Headmaster arrived and spoke the password, and the portal opened, the Gargoyle twisting aside to reveal that spiraling staircase. The four of them stepped onto the stairs, and, even in such close proximity, Aislinn did a remarkable job of neither looking at nor speaking to him. Jordan was also silent, as was Dumbledore, so it was a solemn quartet that emerged into the anteroom of Dumbledore's office.

"Jordan, you come with me. Severus, Aislinn, wait here," Dumbledore commanded, and Jordan followed him inside, and the door shut softly.

As soon as the door closed, Aislinn rounded on Severus. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me," she hissed at him, without preamble. "Jordan Mickery is a slimeball, but you could have bloody well stayed out of it!"

Severus' eyes widened. "He called you a--"

"I don't care what he called me!"

"Well, I _do_ happen to care!" Severus replied. "You can't expect me to stand aside and--"

She placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward. "That is exactly what I expect you to do!" she hissed. They stared at each other for a moment, nose to nose, fiery blue eyes to glittering black. Aislinn broke the stare, rolling her eyes and huffing over to a chair, which she flopped unceremoniously into. Severus seated himself with more dignity, but her words still stung. They didn't say another word until the door to Dumbledore's inner office opened, and Jordan came out, looking calmer and somewhat subdued, though his eyes still glinted dangerously.

He walked to stand before Aislinn, and then said stiffly, "I apologize for any offense, Aislinn." Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, leaving Dumbledore shaking his head.

"Well," the headmaster said, coming into the anteroom and offering a bowl of peppermints to the two of them. "I suppose that I will be looking for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor again at the end of the term."

Severus blinked a few times at Dumbledore. "You dismissed him?" he asked incredulously. Severus had never known Dumbledore to dismiss anyone except... well, no one actually. Undoubtedly, he would have dismissed Quirrell if that stuttering fool hadn't gotten himself killed, but most of the failed teachers left of their own accord.

"I did not," he replied. "I merely intimated that if he expected his contract to be renewed, there were expectations I had of him. He turned in his resignation, effective at the end of the year, rather then fulfill those requests."

Severus looked at Aislinn, who was still glaring past his ear. "Oh," he said softly.

Dumbledore sighed and reached for Aislinn's hand. "My dear," he said softly, and she looked at him, "you must know that Jordan has been plagued with jealousy, and he spoke from bitterness, not honesty."

"I know," she replied softly, not making any effort to remove her hand from the Headmaster's grasp, but also not responding in any apparent manner to his presence.

After a moment, Dumbledore let her hand go, and stood, gesturing to the two of them to indicate they should stay seated. He made a slow circiut of the room, then came to rest behind Severus, a hand on his shoulder.

"I was so pleased to see the two of you becoming friends," he said softly, squeezing Severus' shoulder gently. "I believe you are b oth good for each other. I see changes in the both of you, and I can only attribute those changes to the influences the both of your closeness in the past few weeks." He stepped away, and came to a rest in a chair between them, reaching for Aislinn's hand again, and then taking Severus' hand as well. "I cannot order you to make ammends," he said, looking in Aislinn's direction as he spoke, "and I would not if I could. But I will remind you both," this time he was looking at Severus, and Severus had the impression that this part of the speech was for him, "to not surrender to tension created by a bitter and jealous man. Anything worth having is worth fighting for." He squeezed both their hands, then brought their hands together, placing Aislinn's in Severus'.

Severus squeezed her hand softly, pleading wordlessly with her, and he thought for a moment that it wold be in vain, but after a bit, she squeezed his hand back. Dumbledore smiled, obviously having noticed the exchange, and stood.

"If I may make a suggestion," he said, eyes twinkling, and Severus looked up at him. Aislinn did as well. "Perhaps you both would benefit from a nap before you try to talk. If you were children, I'd swear you were both cranky."

Severus' mouth worked soundlessly, trying to formulate a protest, but it was Aislinn who broke the silence, with laughter. "I think you would be right, on my behalf at least," she said, suddenly wrapping her arms around the Headmaster's neck and hugging him.

Dumbledore chuckled softly, patting her back. "Lunch will be at one," he told them, gesturing towards the door. Aislinn stepped towards it, and, after a momentary hesitation, reached for Severus' hand. He smiled gratefully and took it, joining her on the stairs, and as they began to spiral back down, she offered him a smile.

"Your place or mine?" she asked, winking, and he laughed softly, caressing her face. "Yours," he replied in a whisper. "It's closer."


	33. A birthday wish

January 1

He woke slowly, his head pounding and a cottony feeling in his mouth that he hadn't experienced in more than a decade. When was the last time he'd indulged himself in that much alcohol, that quickly? His mind raced back to his youth, when there was a thrill of living that he was exploring with his newfound friends. Servants of the Dark Lord, they lived and celebrated in ways that would have made the devil cringe. Those had been foolish years in his life, and he'd thankfully put most of them behind him, but last night, he had momentarily relived some of that ecstatic thrill of being alive. And just how much vodka had he drunk, anyway?

The day after Christmas, students had started drifting back to Hogwarts by twos and threes, their numbers slowly swelling until, by the time New Year's Eve rolled around, there were better than two dozen of them. And Dumbledore had hosted a party in the Great Hall. And Severus had seen a trio of Gryffindors hovering suspiciously around the punchbowl, and he'd guessed that they'd spiked the punch, though he couldn't have proven it. And, when he ladled himself a cup of it, he'd sniffed cautiously at it, then sipped it slowly, but had neither smelled nor tasted alcohol in it. He'd certainly felt it, though, within a few minutes, and it somehow didn't seem that important when he saw a pair of Slytherins at the bowl. He'd stopped bothering to notice after a Ravenclaw emptied a vial of something into the bowl, obviously thinking she was being furtive about it. It was Aislinn who told him that she tasted vodka in it, but by that time he had already been feeling the effects of his (fifth cup of) punch.

As he tried to close his eyes against the invasive light, faint though it was in his rooms, Severus took only a slight amount of comfort in knowing that the students were probably suffering more than he was just now. He might not have been accustomed to a night of heavy drinking (and as he moved and his stomach threatened to empty itself all over the floor, he remembered why he'd stopped), but at least he had the benefit of being a drinker of wine, which meant that he had a bit more tolerance than any of the students could have acquired. At least, legally.

He sat on the edge of the bed and waited a moment for the world to stop spinning and for the pain in his head to settle again, and then he stood, and waited again. _Bloody hell,_ he thought sourly, _if that was just vodka, I'll…_ he didn't have time to finish the thought before the world lurched uncomfortably again and he found himself making a dive for the bathroom and emptying his stomach into the toilet. He washed his face, rinsed out his mouth, and with the distant conjecture that he felt better after vomiting, he stumbled back to his bed and crawled in again. Morning could bloody well wait a few more hours.

* * *

When Severus sampled consciousness again, he was a bit more successful at it. A glance at his clock told him it was nearly noon, but at least this time the world seemed to have found a more stable axis and his stomach had decided it was prudent to remain inside his body instead of trying to force its way out. His head still pounded to a dull beat, and his mouth felt like a desert, but otherwise, he thought it safe to get out of bed finally.

His feet hit the floor, and he tottered uncertainly for a moment before finding his balance, but after that, he almost felt human. Almost. He shoved a hand through his hair and grimaced at the feel of it—greasy and lank even by his standards, and he felt, in general, as though he could withstand several showers. He settled for one long one, and by the time he emerged, his skin pink from the heat of the water, he might even have passed for alert. He fumbled for clothes, and found himself making plans to get every blasted student who could have possibly added something to the punch into detention and keep them there for the next six weeks.

But, even as he thought that, he found his mind drifting back to the celebration, and he couldn't help but smile as he thought of Aislinn laughing and tripping over her own feet. He, at least, had held his liquor well enough, but she turned out to be quite an entertaining drunk. How she was ever going to face the students again, Severus hadn't the slightest idea, but he felt sorry for her. She was probably having a much rougher morning of it than he was. Poor girl.

He suddenly stopped, midway through buttoning his robe, a look of horror on his face as he remembered that, as the clock had struck midnight, he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. _Surely the students had already been sent to bed by that point,_ he tried to tell himself. After all, midnight was past curfew… But what was the point of a New Year's Eve party that ended before midnight? He had a sinking suspicion that he had, indeed, kissed Aislinn that recklessly in front of more than two dozen students, and suddenly he was wondering how _he_ was going to face them when term started again.

He finished dressing and emerged into the corridor outside his room, reapplying the wards. As he made his way to the Great Hall, hoping he was going to be in time for lunch, he fretted over his behaviour, wishing desperately that he could somehow change the past. He was so engrossed in that wishful thinking that he was taken by surprise when a hand suddenly clamped onto his arm.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head!" came a cheerful voice, and he found himself ensnared in a hug.

He turned to look at her, expecting to see her eyes clouded from a headache, but Aislinn was bright and cheery, and looking as though she'd just passed a very enjoyable night. He slid an arm around her and hugged her gently. "Good morning," he replied, glancing around, suddenly aware that they were going to have to be more careful about their comportment in the corridors now that the students were starting to come back. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, and she grinned her reply.

"Like a log. You?"

He chuckled at the mental image of her as a log—though the image seemed more like a nymph than anything—and replied vaguely, "Well enough, I suppose."

She took his hands and pulled him forward, placing a kiss on his lips. "Come on," she whispered, "let's have lunch."

She slipped her arm around his waist and reached for the doors to the Great Hall. He should have known she'd planned something from the way she was acting, but when he stepped inside to a chorus of "Surprise!" he stopped dead in his tracks, staring.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, brushing a kiss against his cheek. He stared at her, then at the hall, where two dozen students stared back at him uncertainly, as though afraid he was going to give the lot of them detentions. And he couldn't have honestly said it didn't cross his mind.

Shit, he thought, forcing his eyes to move to the staff table. It had taken him ten years to convince everyone to forget his birthday, and he could just _feel_ the next ten years that he would spend waiting for them all to do it again. Aislinn, however, wasn't having any of his just standing there, and she nudged him forward.

"Happy birthday, Professor," came a timid voice, and Severus turned, frowning slightly and recognizing one of the Hufflepuff girls whom he'd frightened into asking a boy to the dance at Halloween. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Happy birthday, sir." This one was a Slytherin. Amber Carlisle, Aislinn's younger sister. For the first time, Severus saw the two of them together, and he couldn't imagine how he hadn't realized they were related. Amber could have been a replica of Aislinn at that age, if a little more composed and polished.

Aislinn had her arm around him again, but this time it wasn't the affectionate gesture he was used to. She pinched him—hard—in the side and hissed in his ear, "Be _nice_!" And, despite her pinching and hissing, she never stopped smiling.

"Happy birthday, Professor Snape."

"Happy birthday, sir."

"Happy birthday."

It was the Gryffindor trio—Granger, Potter and Weasley—who spoke that time, and, well aware of Aislinn's sharp fingers at his side, Severus gritted out a "Thank you," between clenched teeth, never stopping.

He managed to respond to all the students who spoke to him—all two dozen of them, for it seemed that they were all present—before he finally reached the relative safety of the staff table. Relative being the key word, for even once he made his way to his chair, he found himself being hugged by Minerva and Poppy, then by Dumbledore, and then Hagrid took his hand and shook it until he thought it would fall off. Flitwick was almost as enthusiastic, and even Mickery nodded tightly at him. He endured all of this stiffly, which prompted Aislinn to lean forward as though to kiss him and hiss into his ear, "What is your problem?"

He turned his head and replied in a tight whisper into _her_ ear, "I don't wish to discuss it." And he did not. He wanted to just disappear behind the tapestries and emerge somewhere else, without facing any of this.

"Can't you at least _pretend_ to be gracious?" she asked under her breath as they sat.

"No," he replied tersely. "You went too far this time."

She kicked his ankle under the table. "This wasn't my idea, for your information," she replied out of the corner of her mouth as she bent to stir her tea.

A tension had settled over the hall as everyone seated themselves for lunch, and Severus made a valiant attempt to ignore the stack of presents at the end of the table. He had _no_ intention of opening them. Certainly not here. Probably filled with pranks anyway. "You honestly expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?" he asked quietly.

Dumbledore was carrying on a lively conversation and obviously making an attempt to lighten the mood in the Hall, and Severus listened with half an ear, offering a tight smile at a joke that he didn't find amusing in the slightest. "I didn't say I had nothing to do with it," Aislinn replied in the tone he recognized as her skating around the truth. "Just that it wasn't my idea."

"I suppose it was a student's?" he asked sardonically.

She wrinkled her nose. "Eat your soup," she ordered, pointing with her spoon. He looked at it, and sighed in resignation.

Slowly, students began to talk, and the staff began carrying on their private conversations, and, by degrees, the Hall returned to something of its normal atmosphere, everyone pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary. This pretense actually lasted almost until the end of the meal, and Severus had regained most of his composure when the lunch dishes suddenly disappeared.

"Well, now," Dumbledore was saying, standing, "I believe it is time for you to open you gifts, Severus. Or would you rather the cake first?"

Cake? He mouthed at Aislinn, and she took a very sudden interest in scrubbing at a spot on the table. Cake or presents. Neither was appealing, and he had a mental image of some monstrosity of a cake that would spew bats or something equally appalling. An image that was combatted only by the thought of opening a box in front of the assembled students and finding a bar of soap with careful instructions on how to use it. He _hated_ birthdays, and for good reason.

"Let's begin with the cake, headmaster," he was saying formally, his voice tight with the effort of controlling it. "And then let the students be off to their mischief."

Dumbledore nodded his head, and he clapped his hands once. A cake appeared on the table in front of him, with white icing and green letters spelling out 'Happy Birthday, Professor Snape' in a looping script. Candles burned in a ring around the edge of it, and he was suddenly aware of Aislinn behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

"Close your eyes," she whispered, "and make a wish, and blow out the candles."

You and your bloody wishes, he thought sourly, but he closed his eyes, vaguely aware of her gathering his hair away from his face. He took a deep breath and thought desperately, _I wish this was all over._ He blew at the candles, and when he opened his eyes, they were all extinguished, save one. He ignored the snickers from the students as he blew at the one candle and it flickered out, only to reignite a moment later. _Bloody hell,_ he thought irritably and reached to pinch out the flame. It sprang to light again, and there was a twitter of amusement from the students. With a low growl that only Aislinn would have been able to hear, he plucked the candle out of the cake and dropped it into his teacup, watching it sizzle and silently daring it to reignite while under the liquid. He felt a hand on his thigh and glanced at Aislinn, who smiled uncertainly.

You're really not being very fair to her, he thought. _She wouldn't let anyone do anything to humiliate you._ The candle sizzled for a moment, as though trying to ignite again, and he scowled at the cup. _Charmed candles not withstanding._

She handed him a knife, and smiled tentatively. "You get to cut the first piece," she told him, and he frowned, looking at the cake and trying to figure out how to start it. He'd never tried to cut a round cake before. "Start in the middle, and make a cut to the edge," she was suggesting quietly, "then make a perpindicular cut to the edge, however big you want it."

He glanced at her, then nodded and followed the instructions, holding his breath slightly as he pressed the blade of the knife into the cake. Nothing happened, though, and he drew it to the edge. Still nothing happened, and he began to relax a little. His hands were almost shaking from relief as he deposited a slice of the cake onto his plate, and then Aislinn kissed his cheek again. _We're really going to have to discuss that,_ he thought, but the bitterness didn't even make it to his reflection. Oddly enough, he wasn't sure he _did_ care, after all, if the students saw.

She moved the cake away from him and took the knife. "We were going to sing," she whispered, "but I think we'll skip that, if that's all right?"

He nodded, relieved that she'd decided to forego that particular humiliation. She began deftly slicing the cake, flopping slices onto plates and passing them out. The students were filing up to the table, getting their cake as well, and Severus found himself watching, entranced, as Aislinn plucked candles from the edge of the cake and deposited them on the plate, slicing off pieces and serving everyone who came by. He'd never really thought of her as being that… domestic.

He took a thoughtful bite of the cake, and then blinked, looking at it for the first time. Two layers of chocolate, with vanilla frosting on top and on the sides, and peanut butter between the layers. He suddenly found himself chuckling.

"What?" she asked, her smile easing a bit for the first time since they'd entered the Great Hall.

He took another bite of the cake and shook his head. "I was wondering why you were looking so thoughtful when we were talking about chocolate," he replied. She had the grace to blush and he laughed again, smiling and nodding at the pair of Ravenclaws who were staring at him like they were seeing something slightly unbelievable. Then, it probably was unbelievable to them that he knew how to laugh.

By the time she settled with a piece of cake for herself—a small piece, he noted, remembering that she'd said she never particularly cared for chocolate cake—he was finishing his last bite, as was Dumbledore. With a wave of his hand, the headmaster cleared a section of the table, then murmured 'Accio', bringing the stack of presents to settle in front of him.

"Happy birthday, my boy," Dumbledore said softly, patting his shoulders.

As he looked at the stack of gifts, some of Severus' apprehension returned. It was one thing to trust Aislinn about a cake, but something else entirely to willingly open what looked to be more than a dozen wrapped boxes. A glance at the tags told him that some of the gifts were from students, and his uneasiness crested. His keen eyes sought out Dumbledore's handwriting, and he reached for that one first, hoping that he was right that the Headmaster wouldn't sink to malicious pranks.

As it happened, he was right; inside the box was a pair of bookends, a pair of snakes elegantly carved of silver-veined black marble. If he knew Dumbledore, there was more to them than what they appeared, though, so he was careful not to disturb them overly much. (He would later find his suspicions confirmed; the book ends were charmed to create the illusion of a row of books between them when placed facing each other, they were, and were powerful enough to conceal almost anything.) "Thank you, Headmaster," he said formally. Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Severus' eyes swept the gifts again, and he settled on the one from Poppy next, hoping that his judgement of his colleagues wasn't lacking. It was a small box, and he opened it, and then caught himself just before he scowled at her, and managed a smile and a tight 'thank you' to her as well before he put the lid back on the box. A pair of black gloves. He didn't dare meet Aislinn's eyes.

Minerva gave him a paperweight of a lion wrestling with a serpent, and he couldn't have missed the message if he tried. Interestingly, though, which one was winning depended on which way you turned the block. He had a feeling that he would be fighting a life-long battle to keep it standing so that the serpent was defeating the lion, but the thought never crossed his mind to put it in his personal rooms and deny her the pleasure of flipping it when he wasn't looking. They had long held a certain rivalry between them, though a friendly one.

One by one, he opened the packages, feeling easier and easier about it as he went through them. Hagrid gave him a rather suspicious-looking glass box containing something that looked disturbingly like a cross between a pinkywink and a ligiwand, and Severus was very careful to place it gingerly aside, making a mental note to _never_ open the box or let it fall and break. The gifts ranged from the practical (Professor Sprout gave him an Halaritus plant, a leafy thing that absorbed foul odors in the air and would be most welcome after potions classes where students let their brews bubble over and burn.) to the whimsical (Flitwick gave him a feather suspended between two pieces of willow, and poking at the feather made it morph into different types of birds; Severus didn't know what he was going to do with that, but thought it was interesting.) Sybill Trelawney gave him a slab of obsidian, which she swore would reveal the answers to his heart's most burning questions if he studied it while burning a purple candle behind it (he doubted he would ever try that, but the obsidian had a pleasing appearance, gleaming glassily in the light.) By the time he reached the end of the packages from his colleagues, he had nearly forgotten all of his misgivings.

Until he picked up a package with a tag from Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. That one he almost put back in the pile to open alone, fearing it was going to be something dreadful, but he took a deep breath and opened it. And, to his relief, found it was a fairly benign gift, after all—a desk set that he doubted he would ever use but graciously thanked them for. The collection of things from the students were, by and large, impersonal and unremarkable. Most of them were from two or three students together (a fact for which he was grateful as the collection of dust-catchers seemed to be growing at an alarming enough rate as it was), but there was the occasional gift fromone alone. He snorted softly when he opened a flat envelope from one of the Third-year Gryffindors—it contained a homework assignment that had been due before the holidays. "Nice try, Bennet," he commented dryly. "You still have a detention the first day of class." He was rewarded with a sheepish grin and a shrug. Neville Longbottom had given him a scale, with a scrawled note that it was to replace the one he'd broken at the beginning of term. He was surprised to find a second gift from Hermione Granger, alone this time, a handsome, leather-bound journal. He'd never kept a journal in his life (having too many things on his mind that he didn't need to write down), but as he flipped through the blank pages, he thought he might use it somehow.

When he reached the end of the gifts, there was a round of uneasy applause, and Severus found two thoughts combatting in his head: there had been no gift from Aislinn, which hurt more than he wanted to let on, though he couldn't blame her, given that he'd not given her anything for Christmas; and secondly that while the collection of things varied in their appeal to him, none of them had seemed to be given with the intent of malicious ridicule.

Taking a deep breath, he stood. "Thank you all," he said, addressing students and staff alike. "You've made this a memorable day." It was short as far as speeches went, but it was more than anyone was expecting, and he was rewarded for the effort by Aislinn slipping her hand into his.

As the hall began to clear and Severus gathered his gifts—already wondering what he was going to do with most of them—Aislinn leaned her head close to his and whispered softly, "My gift is in my rooms."

"You didn't have to…" he began, but she waved his concerns away with a smile.

"I know," she replied. "I wanted to." She was helping him pick up the gifts, giving the enchanted feather a poke and giggling as it turned into a parakeet. She picked up the gloves and shook her head slightly, and he noticed she didn't meet his eyes.

"Happy birthday, Severus," came a voice behind him, and he turned to look at Poppy, her eyes twinkling almost as brightly as Dumbledore's were prone to. Severus pulled her into a hug, stunning her as he planted a kiss on her plump cheek, making a sudden imitation of Aislinn's over-the-top cheer.

"Thank you, Poppy! And thank you for the gloves. They look quite warm." As he turned back to the task of gathering the various gifts, he felt a surge of humor, and thought he could understand why Aislinn so often shocked people with such displays. The look on Poppy's face was worth it.

Aislinn picked up one box laden with gifts, and Severus picked up another, and the two of them walked in companionable silence to his rooms, and, once they were inside with the door shut, and his arms were sliding around her, the boxes of gifts lying forgotten at their feet, he found himself wishing that the moment could last forever.


	34. Epilogue

April 22

Albus stood in the door to Severus' office, watching the Potions master work. The last four months had seen a steady decline in the younger wizard's health, and the spark of vitality that had been there around Christmas had all but vanished now, much to the Headmaster's sorrow. It had begun in the middle of January, when Aislinn had made her excuses to them all, saying she needed a long weekend away from Hogwarts. Dumbledore had granted it without question, and she'd left right after classes on Friday. That was the last time anyone had seen her in the school.

The following Wednesday, an owl had brought a message to the Headmaster, asking him to go into London, giving an address, saying it was a matter of some urgency, and he had gone. To his surprise, and great sorrow, he'd met with Aislinn, and she had explained to him, but had wrenched a promise that he not tell Severus until she sent word. He had agreed. Reluctantly, but he had agreed. After all, for once her logic was flawless—there was nothing that could be done to change the circumstances, but Severus was not likely to let it go at that. He would have tried.

As Albus watched him now, he wondered if he had made the right decision. The last four months had been cruel to Severus, and Albus had little confidence that this afternoon would atone. Explain, yes, but not atone. The shimmer in the Headmaster's blue eyes was not the twinkling of humor, for once, and he took a deep breath and knocked on the open door.

Severus lifted his head, his hair more lank and unkempt than ever and framing a face that had become little more than a carving of prominent cheekbones and chin and sallow skin stretched tight across the bone. His eyes were sunken, rimmed with purple, bloodshot as though he wasn't sleeping, and Albus rather suspected that was the case. His mood had returned to the dark, biting bitterness that had so long defined him, and if anything, he seemed more scathing than he had ever been. There was more sarcasm in his voice, more sneers on his lips. Albus didn't think the man had smiled once since Aislinn had failed to return.

"May I help you, Headmaster?" Formal, tight with fatigue, Severus' voice was polite and yet empty-sounding, his words hollow.

Albus stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "There is something I wish to discuss with you, Severus," he said quietly. "Come, sit with me." With a wave of his wand, Albus conjured a plush sofa and sat on it, patting the cushion beside him.

Severus humored him, but it was evident that that was all he was doing. Humoring an old man whom he liked. Albus had no sense of false modesty; he knew that he shared a special bond with Severus, and that there was a mutual sense of caring and respect between them. Albus would have given his life for Severus, and trusted the man with not only his life, but the lives of others. How was he to find the words for this?

Once Severus was settled, Albus turned slightly towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There is something I must tell you, Severus," he said, struggling to keep his voice devoid of emotion. "Something you do not wish to hear, I fear."

"There is nothing you can say that will upset me, Headmaster." It was a confident statement, though a defeated one.

How I wish that were true, my boy, he thought. "It is about Aislinn." Severus flinched, but said nothing, so Albus kept speaking. "I am afraid that I have not been entirely honest with you, Severus. I have known her whereabouts since January."

Severus turned a horrified, yet empty stare towards him, and Albus had to resist the urge to gather the younger man into his arms. "You have known since January," he whispered. "Then she is not coming back." It was a flat statement, and Albus' heart ached for him.

"No," he admitted quietly, "I'm afraid she is not." There was a moment of silence, and Albus watched carefully, his keen eyes scrutinizing Severus' response. The response was minimal.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice more hollow and distant than ever.

Albus squeezed his shoulder lightly. "She has been in London, staying with friends," he said carefully.

Severus nodded. "She found someone else." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, and Albus could almost feel the pain the other man was fighting, and again he resisted the urge to pull him into his arms.

"No," he replied softly. "Severus," he waited for the other man to turn to look at him, hollow black eyes meeting blue. "Did Aislinn ever tell you about the illness she battled as a child?"

He nodded slowly. "She had cancer," he whispered. "That was where we went Chirstmas Eve. To the hospital where she had her treatment. We helped organize a Christmas Miracle for the children."

Albus breathed a sigh of relief, a double-sided relief. That Severus knew that much made this explanation that much easier, and there was a thickness to the potions master's voice that was the first indication of emotion that Albus had witnessed from him since Aislinn's disappearance. Painful as he knew it was going to be, it was a blessing that Severus did still have the capacity for emotion. It was a constant worry, that he would lose that ability all together, and when he did lose it, Albus feared that he would lose Severus.

"Her cancer returned," he whispered softly. "The headaches she had been having, they were symptoms of it. She had a tumor, and it put pressure against her brain." Severus had stiffened, and his mouth was open, as though he wanted to say something but the words were frozen in his mouth. "She went to a Muggle hospital in January, to have tests, and they found the cancer. She summoned me, and gave me her resignation, and asked me not to tell you." _And for the life of me, I don't know that I made the right decision in granting her request._

"She's been in the hospital for four months," Severus whispered hoarsely. "She's so frightened of the hospital…"

Albus closed his eyes briefly, and moved his hand to Severus'. "No, my boy," he whispered. "She did not wish to be in a hospital."

Severus looked at him, something akin to hope in his eyes. "She is better now, though? The treatments… she said they were horrible, but she is…" Albus felt a warm moisture on his cheeks, and he didn't have to say anything for Severus to know the asnwer. The younger man shook his head. "No…" he whispered.

"I am so sorry, my boy," Albus whispered, finally pulling Severus into his arms, dismayed at how easily he came.

"But it's curable…"

Albus closed his eyes again and stroked Severus' hair. "Not always," he whispered against the younger man's ears. "The type she had this time is very seldom cured."

"Then she is…" Albus pulled away from him again, and touched Severus' neck.

"Yes," he whispered, "She is gone."

Blue eyes searched the gaunt face for a sign of tears, but there were none. He took Severus' hands and squeezed gently, but there was no response. He moved a lock of limp hair from Severus' face, but the other man didn't not seem to notice. His eyes were unfocused, staring blankly, but there was no sign of emotion or response to be seen. After a long, silent moment, Severus stood.

"Thank you for telling me, Headmaster," he whispered, the words hollow.

Albus stood, and a flick of his wand made the sofa disappear. "If you need me," he said softly, "you know how to find me. Please, Severus, do not try to make this go away. Do not try to face it alone."

Severus nodded distantly, and Albus knew that he would not come to him. _Cry,_ he begged silently. _Be human. You have lost the woman you loved, and found that a man you trusted had kept her secret until you could not tell her how you loved her. Cry. Shout. Sob. React somehow._

There was no reaction at all, and Albus let himself out of Severus' office, his heart breaking enough for the both of them.

* * *

_A/N_

_And that's all she wrote! About five chapters in, I knew what was going to happen. About fifteen chapters in, I wrote chapter one of the fic that comes after this one (Check out "Bittersweet" for the continuing story). Around Chapter 25, I realized that this entire fic was something to the effect of the world's longest prologue to "Bittersweet" (the first chapter of which I'm posting as soon as I finish posting this chapter.)_

_I told you I don't favor Hollywood endings!_

_Thank you all for your time and reviews!_

_Dazz_


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